


The Medean Curse, A Romantic Comedy

by LydiaLovestruck



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Humor, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:01:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 38,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2832473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaLovestruck/pseuds/LydiaLovestruck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the first Harry Potter/ Severus Snape Fuh-Q Fest From Dusk 'til Dawn. Challenge: Harry's impotent, and the only one who can create the potion necessary to help is Snape. Only... Snape wants something in return. (Challenge provided by Kira)<br/>Original note: I'm an American. What's more, I'm from the South. You read at your own risk.<br/>Major assistance on this story was provided by Mr Lovestruck.<br/>**This has been slightly edited since its original posting for clarity and to fix one error that's been haunting me for more than ten years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry's Big Problem

“I’m sorry, love,” he panted. “I just don’t think it’s going to happen.”

“Oh, it’s all right, sweetie,” she cooed. “Let’s just give it a bit and see what happens.”

“No, no, I don’t think that’ll help… I’m really sorry.”

“Well, could you…?”

“Um, yeah. Sure.”

…

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

…

“You’re not leaving! So soon?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a... an early morning tomorrow.”

“Call me!”

“You bet!”

He ran toward the tube station, hoping the drizzly weather would help clear his head. What was the matter with him?

**

One week later…

“Erm… you want me to suck it, maybe? You think that would help?”

“Sure. Let’s try that.”

…

…

“Come on, mate! I’m giving you my best stuff here!”

“Sorry, sorry… I don’t know what… Look. Just keep the money.”

“No refunds anyway. It’s policy.”

“Thanks for… well, for your time, I guess.”

He hurried out of the back room, past the dance floor and out onto the street. He saw another likely candidate leaning against a lamp post. This one was even better looking than the bloke he’d left inside, but something told him the end result would be about the same. Damn it. What was the matter with him?

**

Three days later…

“Will that be all, sir?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“And did you find everything you were looking for?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Are you a member of our frequent shoppers club?”

“Uh, no…”

“It’s 10% off all regularly priced merchandise and an extra 15% off anything already reduced. Plus, you get a free subscription to our newsletter which lets you in on sales and other promotions before the general public.”

“That’s… um… great.”

“Can I sign you up, then?”

“Let me think about it?”

“Sure. No problem.”

“What are you doing?”

“I’m making sure this works. We don’t want you getting this home and being disappointed later on, do we?”

“I guess not.”

_Bzzzzzz!_

“Good. Now. That’ll be a total of 46 pounds, 38 p.”

“Here you go.”

“Thank you, sir, and here’s your change. Oh, and here’s our frequent viewer card. Rent or buy two more movies and the next one’s free!”

“Great.”

“Thanks for shopping L&L’s!”

He smiled gamely and hurried out. Once on the street, he nonchalantly charmed the outside of the bag to read ‘Harrod’s’. There was no sense in inviting closer scrutiny to his recent purchase.

Once home and safely ensconced in his room, he opened his bag and examined his purchases. He threw a silencing charm on the door and turned on his television. Choosing one of his new videos at random, he shoved it into the cassette player, grabbed the remote control and stretched out on his bed.

Thirty minutes of cavorting co-eds, in a swimming pool, in a shower and in an appallingly well-lit living room provoked not a single positive response.

“Well, it was worth a try, anyway.” He put in the next tape.

Forty-five minutes of sweaty bodybuilders grunting and groaning through routines not sanctioned by any reputable gym association later, he was more interested, but similarly unresponsive.

“Damn it!” he grumbled. “This just isn’t fair. Something is seriously wrong.”

The bodybuilder tape was definitely more interesting to him than the coeds, so he rewound it and played it over. At the same time, he unzipped his jeans, took out his newest plastic battery-operated toy from the bag of goodies, turned it on and got to work. Despite the rather wonderful sensation of warm vibrations and soothing touches, he still failed to respond.

He looked down at his flaccid member. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you want? I’ve gotten you birds. I’ve gotten you blokes. I’ve gotten you tapes of birds and tapes of blokes. I’ve bloody well gotten you your own personal masseuse! I’ve tried romance. I’ve tried quick and cheap. Nothing. What. Do. You. Want?”

If anything, his penis became more flaccid than before. He flung the vibrator at the television, rolled over and tried to weep bitterly. But again, there was no response.

**

Four to Six Weeks Later…

The package arrived by regular post in a plain brown wrapper, as promised. Harry took the box upstairs, cast his usual silencing and anti-eavesdropping charms and opened it. The plastic bottle of tiny blue pills promised an end to his dating woes. Both Sirius and Remus were going to be out of the house all weekend; he wanted to invite someone – anyone – over to share the cottage with him, but only if this worked.

Six hours later, he had to determine that the only thing the pills did was mess up his vision with a funky blue aura. He considered writing a nasty letter to the marketing department of the pharmaceutical company, but ended up flushing the pills down the drain. He spent the weekend by himself.

** 

Three months had gone by since Harry vanquished Voldemort. Three long, hot summer months when he should have been, could have been, celebrating his victory. The owls had poured in, everything from marriage proposals to adoption offers, from interview requests to speaking engagements, from charitable appeals to outright demands for money, but he could not enjoy a moment of it. What he most wanted, what he felt he most deserved, was sex and plenty of it.

And why not? He was a young, reasonably good looking man. He was in the prime of his sexual life. Eighteen years old now and unattached. He wasn’t looking for a Relationship. He was only looking for a Good Time. It should have been easy. It should have been simple. Instead, it was a horror.

The women were willing. That wasn’t the problem. They were only too willing to take him home, make him dinner, take him to bed. Some were even willing to join him in a back alley. None of them left exactly satisfied, however.

The men were willing. That wasn’t the problem, either. They were only too willing to take him home, make him dinner, take him to bed. Some were even willing to join him in a back alley. None of them left exactly satisfied, either.

He had improved his oral skills, though. That was a plus, wasn’t it?

**

Two days later…

“Ron? Can I talk to you?”

“Sure, Harry. What’s up?”

“Not here. Outside. Let’s take a walk.”

Ron shrugged, grabbed his summer-weight robe and followed Harry out the kitchen door. They trudged through Molly Weasley’s garden, out through the iron gate and into the fields beyond. They’d gone a half mile before Ron broke the silence with, “You said you wanted to talk…?”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry admitted. “Thing is, I don’t know how to broach the subject. It’s… it’s kind of personal.”

Ron smiled. “Well, who else can you tell if not your best mate? I am still your best mate, you know.”

“I know you are,” Harry said, flashing a smile. “It’s not that. It’s… just really personal.”

They walked on in silence for another dozen feet. Finally, Ron stopped. “Would it help if I guessed?”

Harry moved on a few more paces, then stopped. He looked up at the sky, then at the surrounding hills as if to be certain they were still alone. “No,” he said. “I don’t think it would. It’s… I’ve been having trouble…” He murmured a few words, blushed and resolutely looked away from his friend.

Ron hurried closer. “Could you repeat that? I didn’t quite catch that last…?”

Harry heaved a huge sigh, nodded, and said in a low voice, “I can’t get it up.”

“You what?”

“I can’t. Get. It. Up!” Harry scowled at Ron. “How many times will you make me say it?”

“Sorry! Sorry,” Ron apologized, holding up his hands defensively. “I just didn’t hear you and then I didn’t think I heard you right. Sorry!”

“It’s okay,” Harry sighed again. He rubbed his forehead, idly fingering his fading scar. “I’m just… this is all so… horrible.”

Ron clapped a comforting hand on his best friend’s shoulder and squeezed. “It’ll be all right, mate. You’ll see. It’s probably nothing. Just some stress. Have you tried relaxing music and candlelight?”

Harry nodded. “I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried romance. I’ve tried down and dirty. I’ve tried men. I’ve tried women. I’ve considered animals but I don’t want to have to go that far. I’ve even tried pills, sex toys and pornos. I’m considering joining a fetish club. Who knows. Maybe that’s my problem. Although,” he added thoughtfully, “you’d think I’d know that about myself already.”

“Well, Harry,” Ron said slowly. “You have had sex before, right? I mean… with Lavender?”

He nodded. “And with Justin. So I know it’s not a defect or anything. I know I can. I’m just not.”

Ron’s face scrunched as he thought some more. “So, when’s the last time you were… successful?”

“Well,” Harry replied. “I was with Lavender when Voldemort called me. We were just about to when the scar started burning and… well. You know what happened. That was the last time.”

Ron’s eyes bugged. “That was over three months ago! You’re just worried about it now?”

“No! No,” Harry assured him. “I was worried about it before, too. But I was injured. All those curses and broken bones, remember? Pomfrey didn’t let me out of the hospital wing for three weeks. And with her checking up on me every two hours, there wasn’t much chance of me entertaining myself, if you know what I mean.”

“I suppose not,” Ron agreed. “But afterward?”

“By then, Lavender was seeing Draco and Justin was dating Dean. We were in the thick of NEWTs. There just wasn’t time to find someone else to shag and I didn’t think about it. It didn’t come up.”

Ron snickered. “Wasn’t that the problem?”

“Stop it, Ron,” Harry lightly scolded. “You’re not helping.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll be good.” He covered his mouth with one large freckled hand, obviously hiding a smirk. “And what about after leaving Hogwart’s?”

Harry shrugged. “I moved in with Sirius and Remus and… started dating. Or, trying to. Sirius’s girlfriend had a younger sister. That didn’t work out. Remus’s boyfriend had an older brother. That didn’t work out, either. I just thought…” He shrugged. “I just thought it was stress. But I don’t know. I’m starting to think it’s something more. I’d think it was good old coitus interuptus, except that Voldemort managed to pull that trick before and I didn’t suffer one second of worry after.”

“Have you seen a mediwizard?”

“How’m I supposed to do that, Ron?” Harry asked. “As soon as I tell the doctor what’s wrong with me, it’ll be all over the Daily Prophet the next morning. That’s the last thing I want. ‘The Boy Who Can’t Get It Up.’ Bugger that.”

“I see your point. But what about a Muggle doctor?”

“Been there, done that, clean bill of health.”

“So… now what?”

“That’s what I want to know. Now what?”

Ron thought a long moment. “Well, I’m no expert,” he began. “But it sounds to me like maybe you’ve been cursed.”

“Reasonable.”

“And what do you do when you’ve been cursed?”

Harry slowly smiled. “Call in an expert.”

“And whose brother just happens to be an expert curse-breaker?”

“Why, that would be yours, Ron.”

“And whose expert curse-breaking brother is going to be home in two days for his annual summer holiday?”

“Really? Bill’s coming home?”

Ron nodded. “And we’re having a cookout to celebrate. You’re invited, of course. So are Sirius and Remus and they are allowed to bring guests if they like.”

“Thanks, Ron. I’ll let them know.” Harry smiled. “I’m starting to feel better. Like there’s maybe hope for me after all.”

“Hey. Anything I can do to help.”

They walked back to the Burrow, chattering on about more interesting subjects, like Quidditch and Hermione’s latest girlfriend.

**

The ‘Welcome Home Bill’ banner flashed red and gold. The cake had dancing asps. The music was techno and the food spicy. Bill Weasley had come home.

Harry grinned as he saw the decorations, the mountains of food and the milling party guests. He adored the Weasleys and both admired and envied their close familiarity with each other, their obvious love and affection expressed easily to family and friends alike. Even him.

Molly Weasley greeted Harry with a tremendous hug. “I’m so glad you came, dear,” she said. “And it’s always nice to see you gentlemen as well.” She smiled at Sirius and Remus before giving both of them maternal squeezes.

Blushing, Remus hugged her back. “Thanks, Molly. And this is Jerome.” He indicated the blond man who had floo’d in with him.

After shaking Jerome’s hand, Molly asked Sirius, “And where’s your young lady? Xanthia, wasn’t it?”

“Alas,” Sirius smiled ruefully, “Xanthia hit the road last week. Terrible fight. She wanted to have me fixed.”

Molly snickered at the implication. “As if anyone should want to try! You’re perfect the way you are, Sirius Black. What you need is a woman who agrees with me. Hmm… let me think. There are a few nice single girls coming today –“

“Um, Molly,” Harry broke in, catching the trapped look on his godfather’s face. “Where’s Bill? Could you take me to him?”

“Hm? Oh, of course, dear,” Molly, completely distracted, took Harry by the arm. “Right this way. He’s in the shed with Arthur.”

Before they left, Sirius whispered in Harry’s ear, “Thanks. I owe you.”

In the shed, Bill smiled happily to see Harry. “Sorry I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you in person, about that whole ‘saving the world’ thing,” he said.

“No problem there,” Harry grinned back. “Glad to do it.”

It seemed Arthur was attempting to interest his son in reconfiguring a lawn mower, but Molly was having none of it. “Arthur! He only just got in this morning. Let him enjoy the party.”

“Right, right,” Arthur said. “Sorry, son. I get carried away.”

“I know, dad,” Bill told him with a knowing glance toward his mother. “And I am interested. I agree there’s got to be a way to keep the gnomes out of the garden with one of these things. We’ll talk about it later on. Harry,” he said meaningfully, changing the subject. “I understand you’ve gotten an offer from the Hempstead Hawks?”

“Erm… that’s right,” Harry said, catching on. “Let’s grab some beers and I’ll tell you about it.”

They made it outside the shed without further comment from the elder Weasleys. Instead of moving toward the back yard, though, Bill guided Harry to a shaded, private arbor. He sat down on a wooden bench. “Ron told me you were having some personal problems. Is that right?”

Harry sighed and sat down next to him. “Yeah, that’s right. Did he… give you any specifics?”

“Besides the fact that you seem to be impotent, that it has something to do with that last fight against Voldemort and you haven’t been able to cure it yourself?”

“No, no. That’s about the size of it.” Suddenly more morose than he’d felt in weeks and certainly since talking to Ron about it, he glumly added, “I’m never going to have sex again.”

Bill laughed quietly. “Nonsense. You haven’t exhausted all the possibilities. Let me have a crack at it first, okay?” He pulled out his wand from his sleeve. “This won’t hurt a bit.”

Harry’s eyes got wide. “You’re going to do it now?”

Still amused, Bill shook his head. “Relax, Harry. I’m only going to see if there is a curse on you, determine what it is and then we’ll see about breaking it. Just sit still a moment. I’m used to working on inanimate objects.”

“Right. Go on, then.” Harry waited while Bill muttered a short incantation. The tip of his wand began to glow and Bill pointed it at Harry’s chest. Suddenly, a bolt of golden-white light shot out of the wand tip toward his body. The beam of light danced slightly, shivered a bit, and then slowly moved across Harry’s body, as if searching for something.

Harry tried not to breathe or flinch out of the way. He’d been checked for curses and hexes via magical means before, of course, but he’d never quite gotten used to it. He kept his eyes cast downward, watching as the pinprick of light moved from shoulder to shoulder, up and down each arm, up his neck and then down again, past his belly button to his hips and then… it stopped. It pointed directly at his cock, his flaccid, feeble, flimsy cock. He flushed red. His upper lip felt sweaty.

Bill’s eyebrows rose. “I think we’ve found the problem.” He muttered a long series of words in a language unfamiliar to Harry. The beam of light wavered, changed color. The beam widened and narrowed; it flashed on and off. After several minutes of this, Bill ended the spell and frowned.

Harry was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know. “What is it?”

“I’m… not sure. I’ll have to do some research. Whatever it is, it’s ancient.”

“Ancient? Like… how ancient?” Harry began to panic. There were some spells that were so old no one remembered how to cast them anymore. This was good because those old spells were fairly brutal, blunt and cruel. This was bad, too, because the counters to those spells were also likely to be forgotten.

“I’m not going to lie to you, Harry,” Bill said calmly. “But neither am I going to soft soap it. Let me do some research. Call some people. I’m not prepared to risk everything just on my say-so. Not when it’s you.”

“The savior of the wizarding world?” Harry snarked.

Bill smiled kindly. “No. My little brother’s best friend and my mother’s seventh son.”

Although he still didn’t know what was wrong, Bill’s words had a way of making him feel better. He was able to enjoy the party, even if he couldn’t take up Ron’s rather sexy cousin on his rather drunk offer of a quick shag behind the fence.

**

Bill owled Harry the following Monday, asking him to come to the Burrow for lunch. Harry immediately owled back his acceptance and by noon, he was in the Weasley kitchen making small talk with Molly. Apparently, the Chudley Cannons were fielding their strongest team in years. According to Molly, a devout Quidditch fan since her days playing Beater for the Gryffindor house team, the Cannons were in the best position for taking the division championships as they’d ever been.

They chatted about the team’s chances until Bill showed up. He apologized for his tardiness, explaining he was still on Egypt time. “That’s all right, Bill,” Harry said, trying not to appear too eager. “I understand.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bill replied. “I promised you I’d be here at noon and it’s a quarter past already. Mum? Would you mind if we had our lunch outside? Alone?”

“Of course not, dears,” Molly replied. With a quick wave of her ever-present wand, she wrapped up their sandwiches and bottled up some juice for them. As Harry carried the items outside, she pulled her eldest boy aside. “Bill, dear, is there something you want to tell me?”

For a moment, he didn’t know what she meant. Then realization dawned. “What? No! Oh, no, you misunderstand. I’m just doing some research for Harry. We’re not… no!” He laughed uneasily. “You really thought…?”

“No, I suppose not,” she admitted. “I just thought. Harry’s such a nice young man and since George is with Donal up in Hogsmeade, and Harry’s never shown any real interest in Ginny, it’d be nice to have him become a more permanent member of the family.”

Bill smiled and kissed her cheek. “You’re a good woman, Molly Weasley,” he said. She blushed and shooed him out the door.

**

In the sunshine, sitting on opposite sides of the Weasley’s birch wood picnic table, it seemed that nothing evil or bad could possibly exist, yet it did and Harry knew it. “I’m cursed. I’ve really been cursed.”

“Yup,” Bill said, taking his first bite of his sandwich. “And it’s a bad one. Total impotency. Nothing conventional will help.”

The fruit juice turned acid in his throat. “I’m doomed, then. A-a eunuch.” He thought a moment. “Well, there’s a bright side. I’ll get to do all those celibate-only spells.”

“Don’t despair, Harry,” Bill said. “You do have other options.”

“Like what?” He considered another bite of his sandwich, another sip of juice. Instead, he tried a crisp, but even that failed to reanimate his appetite.

Bill chewed several bites of his sandwich, apparently starved. “Three options, actually, according to my friends in Cairo. But I don’t know which one to advise you to try.”

“Hit me.”

“The first one is fairly straightforward. You have to have sex.”

“Sex.”

“With a unicorn.”

“A unicorn.”

“A unicorn. Every night for a full lunar cycle.”

“A unicorn.”

“Yeah. Are you a virgin?”

“No.”

“Then that’s going to be a problem. Getting close enough to one, I mean.”

“Right. A problem. Like my already not being able to have sex wouldn’t be? Oh. You mean…”

“Exactly,” Bill said, swallowing about half his glass of juice. He flushed slightly. “The unicorn would do it to you. Although I understand that in some circles, that’s considered highly erotic to watch. You could probably sell tickets… But no. I don’t really understand the appeal of that, myself.”

“Me, neither.”

“Well, the second option would probably suit you better. You just let the curse run its course.”

“Its course? This’ll wear off? That sounds good.” Indeed, his appetite picked up a bit and he stuffed his sandwich back into his mouth.

“Some curses do wear off,” Bill explained. “It’s rare, but they do. This one wears off in about a hundred years. You’re a young wizard, Harry. You’ve got the time to spare.”

“A hundred years with no sex? What’s the point?” His sandwich turned to sludge in his stomach at the thought.

“Well, yeah, I mean, I’m not sure I could do it, if I didn’t have to,” Bill mused. “But the third option… I just don’t know.”

“Why? What’s the third option?” And how bad could it possibly be?

Bill swallowed. “It’s a potion.”

“A potion.”

“A potion.”

“That’s IT? A stupid potion?”

“Well, there’s more to it than that.”

Harry snickered. “Of course, there is. Well, go on. Tell me the worst.”

“It’s a highly complex potion,” Bill explained. “The recipe was found in with the Dead Sea Scrolls, if you can believe it. Part of the find they didn’t tell the Muggles about. It’s ancient, really ancient, and we’re not sure if all the ingredients could be found, or even what the modern counterparts might be. Anyway, I asked my flatmate to owl a copy of the relevant parchments to me. They should be here sometime tomorrow. If you like, I’ll go ahead and forward a copy on to you.”

“A potion? And you couldn’t tell me that first?” Harry laughed outright, his appetite fully restored. “That’s it? No problem! I can make a potion.”

“Well, from what my friend tells me, it’s not that simple.”

“How can it not be simple? Okay,” Harry acceded. “Maybe I’ll have to find someone to make the damned thing for me. But I’ve got money, I’ve got plenty of money, for this!”

“It’s not the potion itself,” Bill said. “It’s the side effects.”

“Side effects? What side effects?”

“Apparently,” Bill began, “and I’m not too clear on it, but they’re really bad…”

**

Four days later, Harry had his owl from Bill. He took the parchments and read them avidly front to back and back again. The potion was beyond complex. It required specially procured ingredients, particular weights of cauldrons made from particular substances, split second timing and a total brewing time of 56 days. He knew of only one man who could possibly make this potion.

He groaned. Harry Potter was going back to Hogwarts.

**

School had been in session for almost a month before Harry managed to get the nerve to visit. When he left school in June, he thought he’d be back only for special occasions, like Dumbledore’s retirement or his own tenth year reunion, whichever came first. He didn’t think it would be so soon that hearing the sound of the bells would make him feel like rushing to class, or that catching sight of Filch would make him immediately fear a detention.

Striving to obey protocol, he first found his way to the Headmaster’s office. Not knowing the password, he stood mute in front of the gargoyle, puzzled. When parents or others came to visit, how did they get an audience with the aged wizard? “I want to see Dumbledore,” Harry said out loud on a whim. “How do I do that?”

To his surprise and his satisfaction, the gargoyle blinked at him, then moved aside, revealing the winding staircase beyond.

“Cool,” Harry said, and walked onto the spiraling stairs.

In moments, he was in the headmaster’s office, enjoying a sherbet lemon and turning down a cup of tea. “No, thank you, sir,” he said. “I’m just here to visit Professor Snape.”

That surprised the old man. “Indeed? I had no idea you would come back here so soon for that.”

“So soon for…?”

“Erm, oh, nothing,” Dumbledore hastened to assure him. “This is not a social visit, I take it, then?”

“Not exactly,” Harry said, still uncertain what the headmaster had inferred by his presence. “More like, I have a job for him to do.”

“I… see. Very well then,” Dumbledore smiled beatifically. “He has a class, as you may recall, until four-thirty. You have twenty minutes to get to the dungeons. I trust you can find your own way?”

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Harry said. He stood, shook Dumbledore’s hand, and said, “I don’t know if I’ll get a chance to see you before I leave –“

“Oh, but you are certainly welcome to have dinner with us. I’m sure the students, particularly the Gryffindors, would be delighted to see you.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry demurred. “Sirius and Remus are expecting me.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it was close enough. He didn’t really feel like spending time with people who were more than likely to treat him with the reverence due a god.

He left the headmaster’s office feeling less than confident. He had Apparated to Hogsmeade, then walked to the castle and the entire way his stomach had clenched into knots. He took advantage of a nearby restroom to quell his digestive nerves. Splashing cold water onto his face, he studied himself in the mirror.

“What is the matter with you?” he whispered angrily. “He’s just a man, just like you. You’re not his student any longer. You’re not even a student at all. You’re an adult and as such, he’s got to treat you differently than before. That just makes sense, doesn’t it? Grow up, Potter! Get a hold of yourself!”

With that, he straightened his pullover and his fringe and strode confidently into the familiar corridor. Five minutes later, he stood outside the potions classroom, listening as Snape gave his class a few final, comforting words.

“You idiots wouldn’t know how to brew tea if I gave you the boiling water and the leaves in a bag. Not one of you managed to produce a passable cleansing potion. That means you’re going to have to do it again, each of you, in your next class, as well as produce a three-foot scroll on exactly what went wrong with this potion in this class, why it went wrong, when you should have realized it was going wrong, and just exactly what you should have done to prevent and or correct it! Now, get out of here!”

Precisely as he finished, the bell rang. Harry wondered if Snape somehow managed to control the bell system. It wouldn’t surprise him. The door burst open and students came flooding out, muttering and groaning to themselves about their homework assignment and their ‘greasy’ potions master.

Harry smirked at them. They were first-year Ravenclaw and Hufflepuffs and, he knew, had gotten off relatively lightly for their potions-making transgressions. When he thought the last student had left the room, he strolled easily through the open door, aiming for calm, cool and collected.

His entrance was ruined by the continued presence of two Ravenclaw boys who were arguing with Snape about their potion.

“But sir,” the taller one was saying, “you can’t honestly tell me that it isn’t blue.”

“It is not the correct shade of blue, as I believe I told you already, Mr. Martin,” Snape replied testily.

“Yes, you said ‘cerulean,’” Mr. Martin replied patiently. “But cerulean is such a subjective adjective. Can you really say –“

“Yes, I can,” Snape replied. “I can, I do and I have. Your potion was, at best, cornflower. It was not close to cerulean.”

“But mine was!” the smaller boy insisted. “Honest.”

“Yours, Mr. Couvert,” Snape grinned nastily, “was perhaps aquamarine. Before it blew up! Or don’t you recall that bit of past events?”

“But, sir-“

“It. Blew. Up!” Snape repeated. “Cleansing potions are non-volatile. There is no reason it should have blown up unless you completely misread the ingredients list. Now, stop pestering me with idiotic questions. Your potions were not cerulean! Get out of here before you both earn detentions. Go!”

The boys wisely scurried as fast as they could past Harry, sparing him a startled glance each, and out the door.

Harry smiled. “Tough day, professor?”

Snape glared at him. “Mr. Potter. And to what do I owe this… pleasure?”

He squared his shoulders and straightened his spine. “I wish for you to brew me a potion.”

“Indeed.” Snape’s left eyebrow rose. He glanced around his room. “Come into my office.” He turned and walked through the connecting door. Harry had no choice but to follow.

**

“Now. What’s this about a potion?” Snape had settled himself into his worn leather seat, leaned back slightly and steepled his fingers in front of him. He regarded Harry with an equanimity reserved for diced slugs.

Harry stood in front of the oversized desk, refusing the urge to shift his feet like the schoolboy he’d been just four months ago. He coughed to clear his throat. “The potion. Right. I need you to make a potion for me. I’ll pay, of course.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose slightly. His tone was lightly sardonic. “Of course. And what potion do you require? I’ll have you know, I charge more for love potions as I find them to be extremely pedestrian, pathetic and pointless.”

He refused to flush. “It’s not a love potion.”

“Indeed.” Snape’s expression barely twitched. “I suppose it goes without saying that I already have a job, teaching potions? Why should I be bothered to make one in my spare time?”

Harry grinned hopefully. “The challenge of it?”

“Indeed,” Snape repeated calmly. “The challenge of making… what, exactly? You have not answered my original question. What potion do you require?”

He fumbled in his robes, finding the hidden inner pocket and withdrawing the parchments. “This one,” he said, handing the folded papers to Snape. “Can you do it?”

Snape fixed Harry with a glare before unfolding the parchments. He began to read them carefully, his obsidian eyes darting across each line swiftly.

Harry bounced on his heels, impatient. The sudden silence was agonizing. “Well?”

“Shhh, Mr. Potter,” Snape said easily. “I’m reading.”

Sure. He could wait. It was only going to be a few minutes until Snape finished and told him he could make it without a problem. Right? Harry glanced around the office. It hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been inside it, roughly seven or eight months ago. It had been for a detention and, if Harry remembered correctly, he’d been the one responsible for reorganizing the bottles and jars in the glass-fronted cabinets. They were still in order, he was absurdly pleased to note.

After several minutes, Snape set the parchments down and folded his hands. He looked up at Harry, still standing in front of the desk. “Well?” Harry prompted once more.

“I have a question, Mr. Potter,” Snape said in a low voice.

Harry bit his lower lip, waiting for it.

“Who was she?” he asked, smirked once, twice, and then burst out laughing.

"It's not funny!" Harry shouted. "This is serious!"

"Oh, I'm sure it is," Snape chuckled. "I'm sure it is."

Harry couldn't believe it. Where was the humorless potions professor he'd known and... despised? distrusted? come to grudgingly respect over seven years of constant battle, bloodshed and belittlement? This man was, well, different. This man was laughing. Huge, infectious bursts of laughter. Extremely infectious. Harry tried not to smile, he tried not to laugh, but he failed. It was funny after all, and if Snape was this amused, very likely he could easily provide the potion. Right? However, "What makes you think it's a girl?"

Snape waved a hand. "Of course, it's a girl. Or a woman, anyway. It has to be. This is one of Medea's curses. It can only be cast with female energy. Honestly, Potter, do you really think a man would curse another man with this? We value our virility too much."

"One of Medea's curses? Shit." Medea had been an extremely powerful sorceress in Ancient Greece. When she discovered her beloved husband had been unfaithful, she had cursed him. Repeatedly. Until the day she slew their children and served them to him for supper. Medea's curses were classified Very Dark Magic. Vengeance Magic. In Harry's view, they should be classified as Unforgiveable.

"'Shit', indeed," Snape agreed. "But you have the recipe here for the potion. What do you need my help for? Or are you finally going to admit that you have completely forgotten everything you never learned from me in my classroom?"

There was no good way to answer that, so Harry did the Gryffindor thing and replied honestly. "I don't trust myself to make it. It's extremely complex, requires all sorts of specialized equipment that I don't have and, well..." He sucked it up. "You're the best potions-maker in Britain, if not Europe, and certainly among the top five in the world. This is extremely important to me. I don't want to take any chances."

An amused smile still played on Snape's lips. "I'm certain you don't, Mr. Potter. Very well. I shall brew this potion for you."

"You will? Wonderful!"

"There is, of course, the matter of payment."

"Oh, anything! Anything at all," Harry gushed excitedly. "Whatever you want. Money is no object -"

Snape waved a hand dismissively. "I have no need of money, Mr. Potter. What I want is something... else."

Harry gulped. He listened to Snape's demand. He gulped again. "I'm... ah... not sure I can do that."

Smiling, Snape leaned back in his chair. "I think you underestimate yourself. Think about it. I'll start as soon as you deliver."

"Right. Right." Harry's heart thudded in his chest. He looked at Snape, his expression still mild and calm. Damn it! Damn him! What could he do, though? Snape held all the cards and Harry... Harry had nothing. "I'll let you know," he managed.

"Do that."

Harry took his leave and escaped the dungeons, Hogwarts and Hogsmeade as quickly as he could, avoiding everyone he could along the way. He had no choice, not really. He had to give Snape what he wanted. Damn it!


	2. Severus's Solution

Harry sat nervously in the small sitting room, waiting for his housemates to return home. He had a lot to discuss with them and he was not looking forward to a single moment of it. There was a flash of light from outside and he shot to his feet, hurrying toward the window. He looked outside, but saw only a passing Muggle car in the street beyond. A false alarm.

He sighed, then groaned, thinking of his problem. His huge, horrible, hideous problem. It wasn’t just the Medean curse that bothered him, although it did. That was going to be solved with a potion. It was paying for the potion that bothered him. He just wasn’t sure that he could swing the payment. He just wasn’t sure at all.

Another flash of light, this one closer to the house, and Harry knew they had finally portkeyed home from their night out. He hurried to the front door, opening it just as they stepped onto the front porch.

“Harry! Waiting up for us?” Remus grinned. He teetered a bit as he swept through the front door in a fading cloud of gin and vermouth.

“Hey, guys,” Harry smiled. “Enjoy the party?”

Sirius slouched through the front door. “Yes, and I am never going to one of Figg’s parties ever again! What that witch puts into the punch, I don’t know.”

Remus laughed. “You say that every time, Siri, yet you’re always there.”

“I guess I figured I had some time to make up,” Sirius groaned. Harry followed the two men into the sitting room. They slouched onto their usual chairs by the front window. Remus kicked off his shoes and sighed, flexing his toes.

“So it was a good party?” Harry asked again.

Sirius leaned his head back. Remus replied, “If you consider karaoke, a limbo contest, a round of quarters and your godfather dancing on the coffee table a good party, then yes. It was delightful.”

Harry goggled. “Sirius danced on a coffee table?”

His godfather groaned. “I still can’t believe I let Bella talk me into it.”

Remus snickered. “You’ve always been a sucker for a big-breasted woman.”

“Have not.”

“Have too.”

“Okay, maybe.”

They were in a good mood and reasonably coherent. Now was as good time as any. Harry made his move. He pulled a footstool over and sat on it, facing the two men. “Anything else go on at the party? Because I’ve got something I need to talk to you about.”

“Go ahead, Harry,” Remus offered. “I’m sure Sirius would prefer me not to mention the strip tease.”

“Bloody hell!” Sirius shouted, then winced. “Don’t you ever black out?”

“My metabolism won’t let me,” he replied smugly. “Go on, Harry. It must be important if you waited up to tell us about it.”

“Right.” Harry looked at his hands, then up at Remus. “I’ve got this problem, see, and… well… I need your help.”

Instantly, Sirius was focusing his bleary eyes on Harry. “A problem? How can we help? What it is, Harry? What’s wrong?”

“It’s… I’ve been cursed.”

“Cursed!? How? By whom?”

“Cursed?” Remus repeated. “What curse? When?”

Harry took a deep breath. “I thought it was one of Voldemort’s, you know, from the final battle, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Voldemort?” Sirius leaned forward. “Have you told Dumbledore? Maybe he can-“

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I know what the curse is. I know how to get rid of it. That’s all been done already.”

“What curse was it, Harry?” Remus asked again, gentle concern lining his features. The former DADA professor’s voice was calm, but insistent.

“A Medean curse,” Harry said, in a quiet voice. “Impotence.”

Sirius stared blankly. Remus, on the other hand, looked shocked, surprised, impressed and then bewildered. “Who was she and what did you do to her?”

“Her?” Sirius repeated. “Her who? What’s going on? What’s a Medean curse? Harry. You’re… impotent?” He snickered once, caught the wounded look on his godson’s face, and covered his mouth with a hand.

“It’s ancient,” Remus told him patiently. “One of Medea’s revenges on her husband for his infidelity. She cursed him with pure impotence. Nothing would work to cure it, except, if I recall correctly… sex with a pure creature?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, I know. Sex with a unicorn every night for a full lunar cycle. Or it’ll wear off in a hundred years.”

“With a unicorn, Harry?” Sirius sniggered. “Sounds… painful.”

“Actually, it’s supposed to be erotic to watch,” Harry said gamely. “Bill suggested I sell tickets.”

“You can’t be serious!” Sirius shouted, grinning widely, then wincing. “With a unicorn? You’re mad!”

Remus ignored his friend to stare at Harry. “But isn’t there a potion or something? I seem to recall hearing something about that somewhere.”

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “And that’s my only option, really. I’m not exactly unicorn material, if you know what I mean, and I’m not willing to wait a hundred years to become, well, fully functional, so… potion it is.”

Sirius nodded, sobering slightly. “And you need us to find the potion? To brew it? What?”

“Not exactly. I’ve got the recipe and I’ve got someone to brew it.”

“Then… what do you need our help for?”

“Not yours, exactly,” Harry said. He turned to Remus. “Mostly yours. You see, I need to pay for it.”

“Well, you know I don’t have any money,” Remus said slowly.

“You can have whatever you need from my account, Harry,” Sirius said. “You know that. Although, you probably have more in your Gringott’s vault than I do.”

“Thanks, Sirius,” Harry said gratefully. “But I’m not paying with money.”

That obviously puzzled Remus. “So… what is it, then? How can I help?”

Harry took another deep breath. “I need you to go out on a date.”

Remus was nonplused. “A date.”

Sirius was confused. “A date?”

“A date,” Harry repeated firmly. “Just one, I swear! I think…”

Remus again. “A date?”

“A date! You can do that, can’t you? Just one measly, pitiful date. You date all the time. What’s one more? Consider it a free meal!”

“A date,” Remus repeated a third time. “A date… with you?” He looked Harry up and down before adding, “Not that I wouldn’t be… interested, but I’m not interested. I think of you like a kid. A very grown-up kid, but, I mean, you’re still my best friends’ kid.” He stumbled over his words a moment longer before adding, “Not that you aren’t good looking in a pretty boy way.”

“Watch it, Moony,” Sirius growled. “That’s my godson you’re either insulting or drooling over.”

“Relax, both of you,” Harry said. “It’s not me you’d be dating. It’s… well… Snape.”

Remus was nonplused. “Snape.”

Sirius was confused. “Snape?”

“Yes,” Harry sighed. “Snape. He’s the one brewing the potion.”

“Snape is brewing your potion?” Sirius jumped to his feet. “That slimy bastard? That insufferable git?”

“He’s also one of the best potions-makers in the world,” Harry reminded him. “He’s brilliant. And,” he added, “he’s got all the ingredients.”

“And he wants to date Remy?” Sirius fell back onto the chair, his shoulders shaking. He burst out laughing. “Harry! Snape asked you to fix him up with… with Remy? He must be so desperate!”

Harry put his face in his hands, hiding his embarrassed flush. He hated to do this, he hated to be in this position, but what could he do? It was the only thing Snape asked for. The only price he’d accept.

“It’s not funny, Sirius!” Remus scolded him. “It is strange, I’ll admit. And it’s awfully peculiar, but what’s so funny about someone wanting to date me?”

“That’s not it,” Sirius managed to say through his laughter. “That’s not it. It’s S-S-Snape! Needing H-H-Harry to get him a date! Gods above, how hysterical is that?! The Harry Potter Dating Service.” Harry threw his godfather a glare. His godfather was, however, unrepentantly giggling.

Remus chuckled lightly. “It is kind of… strange. But…” He looked perplexed. “Severus wants a date with me? As… payment for your potion? I’m really not sure I follow this.”

Harry shrugged, subdued. “What can I say? I think he still likes you.”

“Still? What do you mean ‘still’?”

“Oh, come on! You have to know he had a major crush on you back in school,” Harry replied. “Didn’t you wonder why he listened to Sirius and followed you out to the Shrieking Shack?”

“I thought he was just being a git,” Remus said quietly. “You know. Just trying to get me into trouble or something.”

Sirius groaned then. “Oh, get off it, Moony! You had to know. Everyone knew. Snape was always sniffing after you. It was obvious he wanted to shag you back then. But, Harry,” he asked. “How did you find out?”

“I put two and two together,” Harry replied. “And I saw that picture of you guys back in school, just before the final Quidditch match. The one with both teams in it?” The men nodded, remembering. “The three of you, that is, you two and Dad, had your arms around each other and were laughing. Snape was in the background, well… staring at Remus. That’s all he does in the picture. He just stares at him with this blatantly obvious expression. Whenever the picture-people move around, Snape is always looking at Remus. Always. Put that with a bunch of other stuff, and it was plain.”

“What other stuff?” Remus, still rather dazed, wanted to know. “And how come I never realized this?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said. “I guess you never wanted to see it, maybe? Anyway, it explained all the looks he was always giving you whenever you came to Hogwarts. And why he got so angry when Sirius showed up in the Shrieking Shack third year, and whenever Dumbledore sent you on any missions by yourself. He likes you, Remus. He always has.”

Remus sat silent for a long moment. “I guess so. Not that he was really my type, even back then. He was always so… greasy. And his hands were always stained with potions residue. Huh. And he wants to date me? In exchange for making this potion for you?”

Harry nodded and smiled hopefully. “So, will you?”

“I don’t know. Let me think about it.” He yawned and stretched. “I’ll let you know in the morning, okay?”

Harry didn’t know why Remus would need a night’s sleep to think about anything. It was just a date. Just a free meal. Remus had been dating a lot of men since moving into the small house with Sirius and Harry. What was one more?

**

By nine o’clock, Harry had poached the eggs, toasted the bread and made fruit cups. The Muggle automatic coffee maker had brewed the requisite quart. The orange juice was fresh squeezed, the bacon crispy. As if summoned, Remus walked through the kitchen door at the precise moment Harry sat down to eat.

“Good morning!” he called cheerfully. He grabbed a mug off the table and went to the coffeepot. “Sleep well?”

“Sure,” Harry replied. “You?”

“I did indeed.” Remus brought the mug back to the table, pulled out a chair and slid onto it. “I even dreamed.”

Harry took a bite of his eggs. “What about?”

“I’m not quite sure,” Remus replied. “I think it was a wolf dream. I remember running through a forest having a grand time. I was leaping over fallen trees, jumping over small rivers. It was a lot of fun.”

Harry nodded. “Sounds like it.” He was about to ask if Remus had made any decisions about the date when Sirius slammed through the kitchen door and stalked to the coffeepot. Remus turned in his chair to watch with Harry as Sirius poured himself a mug of black coffee, drank it down, then poured a second one half full. The second mug, Sirius brought to the table. He sat, grabbed the cream, then noticed he was being watched.

“What?”

“Nothing, Sirius,” Harry replied innocently. “Sleep well?”

Sirius grunted in reply.

Both men put some eggs on their plates, took some toast and butter and bacon, and began to eat steadily. Harry finished well before them, anxious as he was. “Well?” he finally asked. “Remus? Have you decided?”

Remus sighed. “I think so –“

“You’re not going to do it!” Sirius blurted. “I woke up this morning, thought it over real carefully, and realized you simply can’t!”

“Why can’t he?” Harry wanted to know.

“Oh, come on!” Sirius gestured with a strip of bacon. “This is just like Snape, using you this way.”

“Using me? Using me how?”

“To get Remus,” Sirius replied. “He’s making you a pimp. It’s an insult, really.”

Pimp?

His unspoken question must have shown on his face, because Sirius nodded his head. “Yes, a pimp. He’s making you pimp Remus. He’s making you a pimp and Remus a whore. Sure, he’ll brew your potion, but only if you pay him with sex!”

“Sex?” Remus repeated, surprised. He looked at Harry. “You didn’t mention anything about sex!”

“There isn’t going to be any sex!” Harry insisted. “It’s just a date!”

“Sure,” Sirius snorted. “And escort services are strictly legitimate business concerns.”

“I’m not an escort service!”

“I’m not an escort!” Remus dropped his fork onto his plate with a clatter. “He knows that. Severus must know that! Doesn’t he?” He looked worriedly at Harry.

“Of course, he knows that,” Harry assured him. “This is just a date. Nothing more, nothing less. A date.”

Sirius gruffed, “Sure, it is. Just a date. You know and I know, or at least you should know, that Severus wants it to be more than that. He’s not asking to take Remus to the movies, he’s asking to shag him. That’s what he wants in exchange for this potion!”

“That’s not true!”

Sirius threw his napkin at Harry. It landed halfway across the table on top of the stack of toast. “And how would you know?”

“How would you?” Harry retorted.

Sirius gestured to indicate himself and Remus. “We’ve known him a lot longer than you, remember? We grew up with him. He was a little shit, constantly getting in everyone’s way, constantly sucking up to the teachers, constantly trying to get us into trouble. Anytime something bad happened to one of us, he was there, causing it or rubbing our noses in it. And then he became a Death Eater. Honestly, Harry. You think he’s outgrown that?”

Harry sat back in his chair and stared at his godfather. “Yes,” he said calmly. “I do.”

Sirius’s right eyebrow rose in a question. Remus continued to eat, his eyes darting from one man to the other.

“Fine,” Harry said finally. “I’ll tell you why. He was a Death Eater, emphasis on ‘was.’ He realized he was on the wrong side and he crossed over. He became a spy at great personal risk and provided invaluable information to Dumbledore and the Ministry. He also put himself in danger to protect my life. Time and again, it was him I had to thank for my surviving one crisis or another. He’s insufferable, obnoxious, sarcastic and mean-spirited, sure, but he isn’t who he used to be.”

“As if people change like that,” Sirius muttered.

“Don’t they?” Harry replied with a significant look. “Are you the same person you were as a teenager? Would you still lead a person you didn’t like into a tunnel where a known werewolf was lurking on the other side?”

He had the grace to look ashamed at that. “No. I see your point,” he admitted after a moment. “I guess I haven’t given him any credit for what he has done for you. I guess I still keep seeing him as he was. It’s just so hard sometimes! I mean, I still really can’t stand him. And I really don’t see much evidence that he’s become any nicer than he used to be.”

“It’s all right,” Harry told him. “It’s not you he wants to date, anyway.” He turned a hopeful look toward Remus, who sighed.

“Back to me, is it?” At Harry’s nod, Remus wiped his mouth with his napkin, took a last swallow of juice, and thought a moment. “I’ll do it.”

“You will? That’s wonderful! Thank you, Remus!” Harry was overjoyed.

Sirius was not. “Moony, are you sure?”

“I am, Padfoot,” Remus told him. “Besides, how could I really say no? How could I condemn Harry to a lifetime of impotency when I could save him with a few hours of my time?”

“I see your point, but –“

“And how could I live with myself if I didn’t help him out when he needed me,” Remus went on to say. “Especially considering all that Harry’s done for me? Giving me a place to stay, saving my life, befriending me in the first place even before he knew I was a friend of his parents, and on a truly sappy note, for killing Voldemort and ridding the world of that evil bastard.” He fixed Harry with a sincere look. “And if that’s how you got this curse, then it’s practically my duty to help you in any way I can. However,” he added, as Harry opened his mouth. “I have some conditions.”

“Conditions.” This might not be terrible, he thought.

Remus nodded gravely. “Conditions. Ready to hear them?”

**

“Go ahead. I may as well know the worst.”

Harry sat nervously on an uncomfortable chair in Snape’s office. The professor sat in his leather bound chair, seemingly calm and unruffled by Harry’s pronouncement.

“Well, sir,” he began. “Remus will go on one date with you, and one date only, and only after you’ve prepared the potion properly, not before.” He waited a moment.

Snape slowly nodded. “That seems fair. Go on.”

“He wants to be taken someplace fancy for dinner. And he’d like to be taken to either the symphony, an opera or a play. He doesn’t care for the ballet.”

“No ballet,” Snape repeated. “Got it. Go on.”

“Right,” Harry said, collecting his thoughts. “Wherever you take him, it has to be fancy. Formal. Muggle formal. You’d, uhm, need a tuxedo.”

Snape frowned. “A tuxedo?”

“It’s Muggle formalwear for men,” Harry explained.

Snape stood up and began to pace. “Go on.”

“There’s not much more,” he said. “Tuxedo, fancy dinner, a show, and, well… You’d have to pay for everything. You pick him up from our house in a limo, you open doors for him, make sure he’s taken care of, stuff like that.”

“A limo?” Snape paced to.

“It’s a chauffeur-driven car. You can easily rent one for the evening.”

“I see. Go on.” Snape paced fro.

“There are some ‘don’t’s, too,” Harry said uneasily. He watched as Snape paced faster, waving a hand as if to say ‘go on!’ “You’re not to make any sarcastic comments about anything or anyone. You’re not to insult anyone, even Sirius. You’re not to frown or be cruel or make any reference to Remus’s lycanthropy. You’re supposed to be a perfect gentleman the entire evening. A perfect date. Or… or he’ll tell everyone about our deal, that you had to practically blackmail him into dating you. After you’ve cured me.” At that last, Harry closed his eyes, unwilling to see Snape’s reaction to Remus’s threat.

Snape stopped stock still. “I can’t do that!”

“What?” It was not the reaction Harry had expected.

Snape stared at him, stricken. “I can’t do that… that… romantic nonsense! I can’t be someone I’m not. I certainly can’t refrain from insulting Sirius. Especially considering he always insults me first! This is…. This is unreasonable.” He shook his finger at Harry. “Remus is being unreasonable. The deal’s off.”

That did it. Harry shot to his feet. “No way, Snape! No fucking way! You are not backing out on the deal! You asked me to fix you up with Remus. I got that for you. All you have to do is make a stupid potion and be nice for one evening, and you’re telling me you can’t do that much?”

“That’s not it at all!” Snape roared back. “You understand nothing, Potter!”

“I understand everything, Snape!” Harry shouted back. “You’re afraid!”

“I am not afraid of anything!”

“Yes, you are! You’re so afraid of everything you live in a dungeon, never go outside, never see anyone, and have to use the medical condition of a man you despise to get a date for yourself!”

Snape drew himself up and folded his arms. “I don’t despise you.”

“Fine,” Harry snarked. “You don’t despise me. But you don’t think much of me, either, and that’s hardly the point. You are afraid. You’re afraid to have people like you.”

Snape made a scoffing sound. “Why should I be afraid of that?”

Harry crossed his arms, certain by Snape’s wavering tone that he was on the right track. It amazed him sometimes how his mind could provide simple and correct answers to questions he never knew he had right when he most needed them. He’d have to remember to speak first and think later more often. “You’re afraid of that because…” He hesitated, wondering if he were possibly on the wrong track. “Because then you’d have to realize that the people who told you that you were nothing were wrong,” he said quietly. “And if they were wrong, then you were wrong to believe them. And I don’t think you’re the type of person who likes being wrong about anything.”

Snape stared at him for a long moment. Harry maintained his posture. He didn’t have a clue which way Snape would move on this. Would he throw Harry out? Laugh in his face? Break down in sobs? Somehow, he doubted the last. Still, he could easily stick to his guns and refuse to brew the potion. Damn it, he cursed silently, that’s probably what he’ll do.

Snape relented. “Fine,” he said, looking away. “I’ll brew the bloody potion. On one more condition.”

Jesus Christ, Harry thought. What next? He steeled himself. “And that is…?”

“Help me?”

With a sigh of relief and a smile to match, Harry nodded. “Of course, I will.”

**

He hadn’t realized what he was getting himself into until he was into it good and proper. Snape didn’t just want help with the tuxedo or the limo, he wanted help with Remus, although he never came right out to say so. What he did say was that Harry needed to share in as much of the work preparing the potion as possible. He suggested that Harry go with him the following Saturday to Knockturn Alley to find fresher ingredients for the concoction. As he had nothing better to do with his time, he went.

The trip to Diagon Alley passed in a companionable manner. The two men met in the Leaky Cauldron, entered the street and headed directly for Knockturn. Harry had been in Knockturn several times before, but never with a legitimate need. And he’d never been welcomed by the proprietors quite like Snape was, with respect and familiarity.

“Professor Snape! How delightful to see you grace my doorway once more!” the greetings went, time and again. The shopkeepers and clerks all seemed to be Slytherins, Harry thought, either fellow classmates or former students of the potions master. Harry stood quietly as Snape haggled over prices and the quality of goods, easily achieving a better price for his selections than Harry thought would be possible. By the end of the afternoon, Harry carried several bags and boxes full of various squishy substances and stinky substances he only half understood the magical use of. Once they’d returned to the Cauldron, Harry asked if Snape were hungry.

“I can eat back at the school,” Snape replied.

Harry smiled slightly. “Wouldn’t you even like a drink before you go back? It’s been a long day.”

Snape sighed. “All right.”

They found a table away from the floo fireplace. A moment later, a barmaid wandered up, took their orders and moved away again. Harry gestured toward the small mountain of bags and boxes. “Is all this really going into my potion? I don’t remember seeing some of them in the ingredients list.”

“Most of it isn’t,” Snape replied calmly. “I needed to replenish some of the stores back at the school.”

Harry blinked. “You mean… I’ve been carrying around your school supplies?”

“Of course,” Snape said. “I assumed you realized that. It doesn’t all come from owl post, you know. Some of those materials don’t travel that well at higher altitudes.”

“I thought I’d just be helping with my potion, not with all the stuff you have to do anyway.” He know he sounded petulant, but he’d just carted around a good twenty pounds of animal guts, malodorous herbs and misshapen fungi for three hours and all for naught.

“Mr. Potter,” Snape scolded lightly. “This potion is for your sole benefit. My main interest is in its academic challenge and in my reward for preparing it properly. As this potion will require a significant amount of my time, it is hardly an imposition for you to devote some time and effort to the same end. It’s not like I can bottle the rest of this elixir for future use. Unless you plan to get yourself cursed again. Which you may very well be. Who could really say?”

The barmaid brought their pints. Harry took a long pull off his before answering. “That’s not fair. Voldemort cursed me. I didn’t ask for it. It’s certainly not like I’m enjoying this! On the contrary,” he gritted through his teeth, staring to one side. “This is killing me.”

Snape caught Harry’s sideways glance and followed it. “Oh,” he said. “I see.”

Harry had been staring at a rather lovely young witch with long yellow curls and a pink, laughing mouth. He looked back at Snape, then back at the witch, then back to his drink. “Yeah. You see.”

“She’s too young for you,” Snape said finally. “You need someone more experienced. She’s the type that would expect you to ask her out a second time.”

Harry looked back at the witch, sitting with a group of other young witches he took to be her friends, and nodded in agreement. “Probably.”

They sat in silence a moment longer, each concentrating on his own thoughts and his own pint. Harry felt a sudden strong pressure on his foot that had to be Snape’s boot. He looked up quizzically. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

Snape shook his head warningly, then subtly gestured toward the back door of the pub. Harry looked, then stared. Coming through the door was a tall, broad shouldered young man, about twenty-three or –four. He had thick, brown, wavy hair, twinkling brown eyes and a smiling mouth. His robes hung close to his broad shoulders and he stooped a bit coming through the door; he had to be almost six foot six. He was, quite simply, a lickable hunk.

“Holy god,” Harry breathed. “He’s…”

“I agree,” Snape replied, just as quietly.

Harry threw a look toward Snape, then grinned. He couldn’t wait to tell someone that he and Snape had been guy-watching! He shifted in his chair for a better view, trying not to be too obvious. The Adonis went to the bar and spoke to the barmaid, flashing a grin at her. She simpered back at him and, as she moved away, the Adonis followed the swish of her robes.

“Damn it,” Harry said. “He’s straight.”

Snape shrugged. “Nobody’s perfect.”

**

On Sunday, Snape owled Harry a parchment detailing a brewing schedule for the potion. Harry, still not needing to work and not finding a reason to do so anyway, easily found room to accommodate the potion’s demands. In an effort to rid himself of some energy long since pent-up by his impotency, he redoubled his exercising efforts. He refused to think the reason for his renewed interest in the shape and condition of his body was the way Snape had practically drooled over the Adonis in the Leaky Cauldron the Saturday before. After all, why should he care what Snape thought of his body?

Because you wonder what it would take for Snape to look at you that way. Just to have him look, he told himself. Just to look. That’s all. That’s not so terrible. Is it? To make the ‘greasy potions master’ look just once at you with something other than contempt or annoyance. That’s not such a bad thing.

Late Monday afternoon Harry floo’d to the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, had dinner, then walked it off on the way to Hogwarts. The school looked almost medieval against the early evening sky, with its occasionally torch lit windows and the house banners flying in the cool breeze. He heard a few owls hooting as they flew above him and the definite sound of hoofbeats in the distance. Centaurs, he told himself with a smile. Just the Centaurs on an evening run.

The castle gates were unlocked, as usual, and Harry entered easily. The change from the cooler weather outside to the warm air inside was immediate and noticeable. He unbuttoned his outer cloak and strode through the entrance hall toward the dungeons.

Several first or second year Slytherin students were in the lower hallway, laughing and playfully pushing each other. Harry politely looked away from them as he passed, intentionally not making himself into any sort of authority figure by scolding them for their potentially rough play.

Snape’s office door was open; the professor was inside at his desk. Harry knocked, then said, “Good evening, Professor. Ready to begin?”

He looked up from the parchment he was grading. “I believe so. Have you eaten?”

“Um, yes,” he replied honestly. “At the Three Broomsticks.”

“I see,” Snape replied. “No matter. Do you mind if I-?”

“Please go right ahead,” Harry assured him, mentally making a note to not eat beforehand again. It wasn’t that he was interested in sharing a meal with the snarky professor. Was it? No. He was just interested in being polite and it was definitely more polite to share a meal than to eat in front of someone.

Snape ordered a sandwich and a glass of juice from a house elf. He ate it standing at his work table while Harry laid out the various ingredients, making sure they had plenty of each and that each ingredient was fresh. Snape identified each one and explained its role in the brewing process. Harry was surprised to discover that the cauldron would not be heated by a magical fire, but an actual one. “Why?” he asked.

“Because magical fires add magic to the mix,” Snape explained patiently. “It’s something any First Year should know,” he added.

Harry shrugged. “Maybe,” he replied, aiming for an uncaring tone. He didn’t want Snape to know that he secretly hated it when the professor noticed his lack of potions expertise.

“So that’s what the dried leaves are for? The fire?”

“Yes,” Snape told him. “As well as for a pleasing scent. There’s nothing like the smell of burning leaves on an autumn day.”

“Not if you’re the one who has to rake them up after your fat cousin jumps in them,” Harry muttered. “Time after time after time.”

Snape frowned curiously at Harry, then dismissed whatever his thought was with a shake of the head. “The potion only gets heated for a very short time. This is a cold process and will be kept on ice in the storeroom for fourteen days at one point.”

Harry nodded, remembering the schedule. “That shouldn’t be a problem. It’s not like I’ve got a lot of demands on my time.”

“Ah, yes,” Snape said, nodding. “Still the man of leisure, I see.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Harry asked, grinning cheekily. “I’m helping Britain’s unemployment problem by not taking a job from someone less fortunate than I.”

Snape merely looked at him.

“Honestly,” Harry said. “It’s not like I have to work, and I certainly don’t feel the need to, not at this stage of my life anyway. Why should I, then?”

“To be useful,” Snape replied. “Everyone should make themselves useful. You have talents. It’s a shame, almost a sin, not to use them.”

That was certainly interesting. “I have talents? Like what?”

Snape fixed him with a steady glare. “I am hardly going to begin enumerating your talents, Mr. Potter. I am not a member of your fan club, nor am I responsible for increasing your self-esteem.”

“Oh, come on,” Harry teased. “Can’t you just tell me one? One small, measly compliment… what can it hurt?”

“Very well, then,” he relented. “You have a remarkable talent for assassinating Dark Lords. Pity there aren’t more of them.”

Harry stuck out his tongue in retaliation.

“Charming,” Snape replied.

“Look,” Harry said. “I don’t want to work in an office, I don’t trust the Ministry, I don’t want to wear a name tag or work in a shop. I’d thought of playing Quidditch, but I’m not certain I want to be on the road that much, or get hurt as much as Seekers tend to in the professional leagues. Still, it’s an option. There was some interest in me after graduation.”

“But why would you waste your talent on a silly game that ultimately means nothing?”

Harry leveled a gaze at him. “For one thing, it’s fun and it makes people happy to watch Quidditch matches. It does make me happy to play. It’s about the only thing that does, especially nowadays. I’m just not sure it’s the best thing for me to do.”

“I see,” Snape replied, but Harry wondered if he really did.

**

They fell into a routine. After the last class of the day let out, Harry would floo to the Three Broomsticks, walk to Hogwarts and join Snape for dinner before working on the potion. Their discussion the second night centered on the potion itself, with Harry wondering how the cure had been developed in the first place and Snape informing him of the surprising ability of the ancient potions-makers. As they exhausted the theoretical, they delved into the practical.

The potion was even more complex than Harry had first realized. Each ingredient had to be soaked in special oils which had to be combined in a particular fashion with specially obtained herbs and spices. “This reminds me of salad dressing,” Harry quipped.

Snape smirked his response. “I wouldn’t drink it though, if I were you. Not unless you wanted to spend the next few hours on the toilet.”

“It’s pretty, though.”

“I suppose. If you’re easily taken in by such things.”

“Beauty?”

“Yes,” Snape replied. “It is, in truth, only skin deep. I’ve dissected unicorns. I know this for a fact.”

Harry frowned, shook his head and returned to his diced mandrake leaves. “You know, Snape,” he began, then dropped off.

“What?”

“Remus isn’t going to like it if you’re too sarcastic,” he said. “You need to watch that.”

“So you’re telling me I should just be silent the entire evening?”

“Well, no,” Harry admitted. “Although that couldn’t hurt.”

“Fine,” Snape said almost petulantly. “I won’t say a word the entire evening.”

Harry sighed. “Don’t do that!”

“Then what should I do? Apparently my conversational skills are lacking.”

“So what if they are?”

A moment, then Snape said quietly, “I want him to like me. To like spending time with me. I don’t want him to regret... anything.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He’d never really considered Snape’s reasons for his dating demand. He’d just assumed Snape was being his usual controlling self. But now it seemed as if… “You really like him, don’t you.”

Snape nodded. “I always have,” he said softly.

Harry put down his butcher knife, picked up a flat wooden scraper and began dropping the diced leaves into a prepared bottle of rose and flaxseed oil. “Why?” he asked. “I mean, I know what Remus is like and I know why other men like him, what they see in him. What do you see in him? Why do you like him?”

Snape turned away toward his supply cabinet. “We’ll need more pigeon hearts,” he said. “I have some in my private stores.”

“No, we have enough. Stop stalling. Tell me.”

He sighed. “Remus is… He’s… He was always nice to me, especially when we were alone, working on projects for class, for example. It always seemed that he wasn’t behind any of the others’ pranks, and he always seemed to regret their cruelty. A few times, he even helped me afterward. Like when Black would hex my book bag to break open, Remus would sometimes help me gather my things back together. And he always looked so… lonely and… and beautiful. And I guess I thought he needed a better friend: me.”

“You had a crush on him,” Harry commented neutrally.

Snape nodded. “I suppose you could call it that. But I never grew out of it. I still think he’s… attractive. It just… got easier to ignore after.”

“After you discovered he was a werewolf.”

“Yes. That changed some things.” Snape turned back toward the table and began cleaning up.

“I see.” Then Harry asked, “Is that why you joined the Death Eaters?”

“Not completely,” he admitted. “Yes, I thought Remus was behind it and yes, I was hurt by Dumbledore’s failure to expel Black or even allow me to press attempted murder charges against him, but that betrayal was not the primary reason I joined Voldemort.”

“Then… what was?”

Snape shrugged. “They asked.”

**

By Saturday, their ingredients were soaking in their individual bottles or hanging in drying racks from the ceiling. Harry had overslept and was late floo’ing to Hogsmeade. He raced to the castle, then down the stairs to the dungeon level. He found the potions master overseeing two detentions in his classroom. Harry skidded to a halt just inside the doorway. “Hello, professor,” he said casually, his hand on the brass doorknob, his shoulder against the door. “What’s going on here?”

Snape glared at his students. “These recalcitrant dunderheads are going to clean every inch of this room, without magic, until it is fit for use again. These idiots have managed to produce and then explode an anticoagulant.”

Harry thought a moment, then gasped. “You can’t be serious! But that would prevent any potion from congealing… you couldn’t brew a thing!”

“Tell that to these two,” Snape growled. “I had to move yesterday afternoon’s classes to the smaller laboratory, which was an extreme inconvenience, I can assure you.”

“We’re very sorry, sir,” the braver one squeaked. “We didn’t know it would explode-“

“You added bicarbonate of soda!” Snape thundered. “What did you think that would do when combined with vinegar? Turn into candy?”

Harry would have laughed if it hadn’t been so serious. Even the tiniest droplet of anticoagulant could produce enough of a vapor to affect the properties of exposed liquid. He noticed Snape and the boys, the two Ravenclaws he’d first seen arguing with the professor over the definition of ‘cerulean’, he realized, were wearing clear glass face protectors.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “I think I’d better be getting out of here.” Even as he said that, he felt his eyes start to stream and his mouth water. The anticoagulant had begun to affect him.

“Mr. Potter!” Snape said, horrified realization in his eyes. “Go outside immediately! I’ll meet you on the front steps momentarily. Go!”

Harry ran again.

**

It was actually a very nice day, Harry thought. Even if he couldn’t get a very clear look at it. His eyes continued to stream and he had to constantly swallow so as not to drool. It was embarrassing. Several of the older students had passed him on the steps, obviously on their way to the Quidditch pitch, but they studiously ignored him for which he was thankful.

Except Ginny Weasley.

“Harry? Is that you? What are you doing here?”

He turned, embarrassed. “Hi, Ginny,” he managed. He felt the corners of his mouth fill up with drool. He clapped his hand over his mouth and hoped she hadn’t noticed.

“You weren’t waiting here for me, were you?” she smiled coyly.

He quickly shook his head, then apologized with his eyes. He had taken off his glasses as they kept getting stained with his tears, so he couldn’t see her very clearly beyond a fuzzy dark-red and peach blur.

“Are you feeling all right?”

He nodded, then shrugged. He noticed a tall young man standing some feet behind, watching them curiously. Ginny noticed him looking. She grinned. “Harry, I’d like you to meet Terry MacMillan. Terry, this is Harry Potter.”

The young man, dressed in Ravenclaw robes and with a large silver prefect’s badge, stepped forward, his hand outstretched. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”

Harry had no choice. He shoved on his glasses. His right hand had been covering his mouth and it was a bit wet, but a quick swipe alongside his cloak should be sufficient, right? It wasn’t. Terry’s expression altered slightly, his lips in a moue of distaste. “Nice to meet you, Terry. Sorry about that,” he added, muttering.

Puzzled, Ginny took Terry’s arm. “We’re on our way to team practice. What about you?”

“I’m –“

“There you are, Mr. Potter,” Snape said loudly. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting. Here. Look at me.”

Startled by the sudden interruption, but grateful all the same, he looked. Snape pulled off Harry’s glasses, then sprayed him in the face with something that felt like soap and smelled like boll weevil juice. He shut his eyes and mouth in defensive surprise.

“Ew!” Ginny squeaked. “What was that, professor?”

“This is nothing more than a simple congestant, Miss Weasley,” he said. “Mr. Potter here got a dose of –“

“- of that anticoagulant infecting the potions lab? How awful.” Terry MacMillan oozed sympathy. “Didn’t you put on a mask before entering?”

“I didn’t know I had to,” Harry sputtered as Snape sprayed him again.

Terry frowned. “But there’s a sign on the door. I know there is. I put it there myself.”

“Huh? I didn’t see any sign!”

Snape sighed. “I’m not surprised, Mr. Potter. It was a clearly posted sign informing everyone who passed of a potential danger. I’m not surprised at all that you failed to recognize such a thing.”

Ginny snickered. Terry looked confused. Harry opened his mouth to issue a sharp retort but Snape sprayed him yet again. Harry sighed. At this rate, his face would never dry.

**

They decided, since it was likely to be the last warm day of the year, to have their meal outside on the lawn. Snape had finished the last of the preparation the night before after Harry had left and there really wasn’t any point in starting the brewing process just to interrupt it to eat.

They sat on a soft red checked blanket, on a slope overlooking the lake. The house elves had provided a delicious spread of chicken sandwiches, fresh-squeezed pumpkin juice, a fruit plate and half of a lemon cheese pie. A charmed tea pot hovered just above the blanket, steeping.

“You could have asked me to stay longer last night, you know,” Harry told him.

“I could have,” Snape replied. “But you looked exhausted. I thought it would be better for you to sleep and be awake today than help me last night with something I could easily do myself.”

Harry leaned back on his elbows. “Well, thanks for that,” he said. “Sirius had me helping to rework the garden yesterday. I was tired.”

“You looked it.”

“Thanks for that, too,” he added with a grin.

They sat and ate in surprisingly companionable silence for several minutes. “Listen, Snape, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day –“

“Severus.”

“What?”

“Severus. My name is Severus. I’m not your professor any longer and I don’t really care to be called solely by my last name.”

“Oh? Why not?”

“It’s impersonal,” he explained.

“You call me ‘Mr. Potter’.”

“You haven’t given me permission to call you anything else,” he said blithely.

Harry smirked. “You may call me ‘Harry,’” he said.

Snape inclined his head. “Very well. Harry. Now, what have you been thinking about?”

“Oh! Right.” He rested on his elbows once more. “Just that you’ve had this crush on Remus for years, right? And you’ve never done anything about it before now, right? So why now?”

He thought a moment. “The opportunity presented itself.”

“Come on, Severus,” Harry said, grinning at being able to use the man’s first name for the first time. “The opportunity was always there.”

“Not… not really.”

Harry rolled over to his stomach. Snape sat leaning against a maple tree, tucked in between two massive roots. He held a cup of tea on his bent knee, a biscuit in the other. “You thought he’d refuse you, didn’t you.”

“Why should he have accepted?”

“Why not?”

“Look at me, Mister – Harry,” Snape said dryly. “I’m not exactly a Witch Weekly cover model.”

“Maybe not,” Harry agreed. “But that’s because you’re not a Gilderoy Lockhart. You’re a Severus Snape and that’s, well, better. You’ve got something going on besides appearance.”

Snape snorted with laughter. “Is that your way of telling me gently I’m ugly?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘ugly.’ More like… ill-featured.” Harry hesitated a moment, then broke out with laughter. He caught sight of Snape’s plainly un-amused scowl and apologized. “Sorry, sorry… but I couldn’t help it. It’s not true, anyway. You have interesting features. They’re actually quite dramatic.”

“Dramatic.”

“Mm-hm. You have really nice eyes, in fact,” Harry added with a critical air. “And a good mouth. A nice mouth. In fact, could you smile for me? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile.”

“I smile!” he protested. “I smile all the time.”

“You do not! Impossible!” Harry flatly disagreed.

To prove him wrong, Snape smiled. One side of his mouth quirked up at an odd angle while the other remained fixed on a horizontal plane.

“Oh, yeah,” Harry said dryly. “That’s a smile. How could I have mistaken it for anything else?”

Irritated, Snape sipped at his tea.

“Well, we can work on that,” Harry said.

“I beg your pardon? ‘Work on that’? That sounds vaguely threatening.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” Harry said. “Look. You like Remus. All that stuff you said about him being a nice kid is still true today. I think on some level he’s so afraid to hurt people as the wolf that he refuses to hurt them as a man. You really don’t have anything to worry about. He’s not looking to embarrass you. Unless the potion doesn’t work, of course. Then all bets are off.”

“The potion will work.” Snape dismissed the idea with a wave of the biscuit before he dunked it into his tea.

“So, my thought is,” and here he hesitated, uncertain how his idea would be received. “My thought is… we Eliza Doolittle you.”

Snape stared in fearful horror. “We what me?”

Harry scrambled to his knees, entranced by his idea. “It’s a play. And a movie. And a musical. It’s Muggle, but it’s really good. There’s this girl, see, and she sells flowers and she talks like – well, that’s not important. She gets what they call a ‘make-over,’ and by the end, everyone’s in love with her. She’s this perfect lady. That could be you!”

“I have no intention of becoming a lady, perfect or otherwise, I can assure you!”

“Relax, Severus, that isn’t what I meant at all. I just mean that we could, you know, work on your manners and conversational skills and stuff like that. That way, Remus would have an even better time than he’s expecting, and he might even really fall for you.”

“My manners are impeccable.”

“Fine!” Harry felt himself getting a bit more than exasperated by Snape’s resistance. “But you’re nervous about this date, right? You want him to like you, right? Well, I know what Remus likes in a man and it isn’t sarcastic comments or superior attitudes. He likes men who treat him well. Who compliment him and are thoughtful and sweet and who take charge.”

“I know how to take charge,” Snape growled.

“Like Churchill,” Harry agreed. “But it’s the thoughtful and sweet that’s going to get you into a position to really take charge, if you know what I mean and I hope you do because I’m not going to spell it out for you.”

Snape looked a bit wonderingly at Harry. “You would do that? You would help me?”

Harry nodded.

“Why?”

“Why not? Besides, I already told you I would.”

“No, I mean it. Why?”

Harry thought for a long moment before answering. “For a lot of reasons, I guess. Not just because you asked, but because I like Remus, and you seem to like him, and if the two of you could be happy together, that would be a good thing.”

“That’s it?”

“I think so. Why? Do you think I have a different motive?”

It was Snape’s turn to think a long time before answering. “No. No, I don’t suppose you do. I will say this, though. It’s quite Gryffindor of you.”

Harry grinned. “Why, thank you!”


	3. Harry's Mistake

Once the ingredients had been prepared, it was simply a matter of assembling them into the specific cauldrons in the specific order and at the specific time. Harry kept one eye on the recipe and one on Snape, astonished, impressed and worried because the older man never seemed to refer to the potion instructions once. Not once.

“Are you sure it’s ready for the rose oil extract?” Harry asked at one point. A baleful glance was his only reply. “I guess you are, then.”

“Mr. Potter,” Snape said with a sigh. “I assure you I know how to prepare this potion. It is complex, yes, but logic is logic and there are certain things one combines only at certain times depending upon one’s goal.”

“So, anyone could do it, is what you’re saying.” Harry kept his head down, hiding his cheeky grin, knowing what Snape’s reaction to that seemingly guileless comment would be – a preternaturally sour face.

They worked on in silence broken only by short instructions and muttered incantations. When the night’s labor was ended, Snape invited Harry to join him for a drink before heading back home. Harry gratefully accepted and when they arrived at the professor’s quarters, he asked, “When do you want to get fitted for your tux?”

Snape shuddered elegantly. He handed Harry a snifter of brandy before sitting at one end of his comfortable, well-worn sofa. “You’re the expert on Muggle clothing. When should I?”

“Next Saturday,” Harry said without hesitation, sinking onto the surprisingly soft cushions. “Meet me in the Leaky Cauldron and we’ll go into London. I’ll ask Hermione for a recommendation of a good men’s clothing store. I’ll arrange the limo myself. You won’t have to worry about that.”

“Fine, fine,” Snape agreed.

Harry shifted to face the older man. “You seem nervous. You shouldn’t be, you know. Dating’s easy.”

He fixed him with a scowl. “Perhaps for you, but then, I imagine all you have to do is display your scar and the girls come screaming and the boys swoon at your feet.”

“If only it were that simple,” Harry laughed. “But then, I haven’t made a girl ‘come screaming’ in months. Too many months. Or make a boy swoon.” He frowned. “Or even vice-versa.”

Snape lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “You will. If you were ever able to in the first place, of course.”

Harry caught Snape’s smirk and shrieked in mock outrage. “Oi! That was cold! I’ll have you know until I was cursed, I had no complaints whatsoever about my technique.”

“You have a technique?” Snape laughed outright. “You’re what, eighteen? Eighteen-year-olds do not have ‘technique.’ They know nothing of the seductive arts and have difficulty conceiving of more than two positions.”

Blinking, Harry asked innocently, “There are more than two positions?”

Snape shot him a startled look, then shook his head. “You’re trying to have me on,” he said.

Dismissing the subject with a wave of his hand, Harry said, “If you know so much about the ‘seductive arts,’ why were you so nervous about asking Remus out?”

A long pause, and then, “It’s been… some time since…”

Harry nodded. “I see. You’re feeling rusty.”

Snape finished off his brandy and set his glass on the floor by his feet. “It’s been a difficult decade.”

“Well, it’s like riding a bicycle, so they tell me,” Harry offered. “Not that I’ve ever ridden a bicycle. Once you two get some time alone, I’m sure it’ll all work itself out. You’ll laugh about old times, talk about the future. It’ll be romantic and sweet and all that fuzzy stuff. You’ll win him over.” He followed Snape’s example and set his own empty glass on the floor by his feet. In the firelight, he could see the other man staring blankly ahead, as if completely lost in terrifying thought.

Harry leaned forward and extended a hand in front of Snape’s face. “Severus? You okay?”

Snape blinked, startled. “I’m fine. Just… thinking. Realizing I have no idea what to talk about. What to say.”

“Talk about whatever comes up,” Harry said. “The weather, or the Daily Prophet. Or the food or the show or whatever at all. Conversations just happen. They happen all the time. Look at us,” he went on. “We’re having one right now. It’s easy.”

“It’s easy now,” Snape said. “Because I’m not trying to impress you. I don’t care if you like me or not. I want Remus to like me.”

“Mm-hm,” Harry said thoughtfully. “So practice on me.”

“I beg your pardon? Practice what, exactly?”

“Come on, it’ll help. I promise,” Harry said. “Ron practiced asking Hermione out on me for a month before he got the nerve up to actually do it. Of course, she only said ‘yes’ to try to see if she were really a lesbian or not and after two dates she realized she definitely was, but still. He asked her out and that was the important thing.”

Snape stared at Harry for another long moment. “If I understand you correctly, you want me to practice my conversational skills on you?”

“You got it,” Harry said cheerily. “You be you and I’ll be Remus. Start any time.”

He took a deep breath and resettled himself on the sofa. He nodded once, then said, “Good evening… Remus.”

Harry smiled and said in a slightly higher than normal register and with a slightly Welsh intonation, “Good evening, Severus. Where are we going tonight?”

“Uhm… Uh… The opera?” Snape stammered. He looked to Harry for confirmation. Harry merely shrugged. “The opera.”

“Wonderful. I love the opera. Who’s your favorite composer?”

“Huh? What? Oh. Um… Wagner, I suppose.”

Harry frowned and shook his head.

“Not Wagner?”

Harry sighed, then said in his ‘Remus’ voice, “I prefer Verdi, myself. La Traviata, Rigoletto. They’re beautiful, romantic works.”

“Mush,” Snape declared. “It’s all Muggle mush. Wagner has depth and is much better suited for the magical world as it deals frankly with the gods and myth and Good and Evil and what are you doing, Mr. Potter?”

Harry had slumped bonelessly on the sofa, his head barely on the seat back, his legs sprawled out on the floor in front, one hand fisted and pounding into his sternum. “I’m trying to kill myself,” he replied. “Just like Remus will be if you say any of that on your date.”

Snape stood and angrily paced to the opposite side of the fireplace. “I can’t have an opinion? I can’t express myself?”

“Of course, you can express yourself,” Harry said, sitting up. “But you really shouldn’t insult someone else’s opinions while you’re doing it!”

“And why did you shake your head when I said Wagner?”

“Because,” Harry replied calmly. “Liking Wagner is as good as saying you’re boring in bed.”

Snape gaped.

“It’s true,” Harry insisted. “Italian opera, for example, doesn’t make you think, it makes you feel, and what you want is for Remus to feel, not think, when he’s in bed with you, right?”

“He’s going to go to bed with me?”

“Well, no, but you want him to be thinking of it, right? Isn’t that the purpose of a date? To make the girl or guy think about having sex with you? And then to get them there? But –“ Harry held up his hand “-I promised Remus there would be no sex, so don’t make me out to be a liar.”

“I won’t,” Snape promised. “I don’t want just one night with him. I want… more than that.”

Harry felt his eyebrows get lost in his hairline. “And you say you like Wagnerian opera? You romantic devil, you!”

“Look, Harry, just because I’ve been alone most of my life doesn’t mean I ever wanted it to be that way!”

“No, no, don’t get mad,” Harry said quickly. “I didn’t mean to insult you. I just... guess I never thought much about it. I guess we all just assumed you liked your life the way it was.”

“’We’?”

“Us students,” Harry explained. “But it’s not like we spent all our time talking about you. We also wondered about the other teachers.”

“Wonderful.”

“And since you’re in the position to know –“

“Rumor at the time was it was how she got the job.”

It was Harry’s turn to gape. “What? Who? What?”

“It’s late, Harry. Go home and go to bed. I’ll see you here on Monday. The roots should be ready to mix by then.”

**

Whatever had changed that made Severus Snape more talkative, more open and more relaxed around him, Harry couldn’t say, but he wasn’t complaining. As a teacher, Snape was cold, distant, cutting and exacting. As a warrior in the fight against Voldemort, he was ruthless, cunning, devious and valiant. As a friend, he was something else entirely. And he was definitely becoming one of Harry’s friends.

He looked forward to his time with the potions instructor, so much so he found himself arriving earlier and earlier to Hogwarts and waiting outside the classroom for the last class to let out. When Snape realized what Harry had been doing, he growled and dragged the young man into the laboratory and put him to work. “Help me keep an eye on these nitwits,” he ordered gruffly. “As long as you’re here.”

Harry found he rather liked watching Snape bully people other than his friends. It gave him an almost vindictive thrill to note that, contrary to his beliefs, Snape had no more picked on him in class than any other student, and seemed to enjoy pitting one House against another, forcing cooperation and competition. And when one hapless student quaked while receiving a tongue-lashing for failure to properly assemble his Pepper-Up Potion, instead of feeling sorry for the boy, as he might have once, he saw the merit in Snape’s approach. After all, even a slightly improperly prepared Pepper-Up had a tendency to burn holes in a person’s esophagus.

Still, making the boy cry was probably going a step too far.

After class let out, Harry chanced a grin at Snape. “You hungry?”

Snape sighed, “not really.” He listened as the last sounds of footsteps faded down the outside hall. “Tonight will be the last night for a while that you’ll have to be present,” he said. “This stage has to soak until next Wednesday.”

“We’re still on for Saturday, though, right? Hermione’s given me the name of a men’s store.”

“Yes, of course,” Snape nodded. “What time shall I meet you in the Leaky Cauldron?”

“Depends,” Harry said, smiling slowly. “Where do you want to have lunch?”

Snape thought a moment, then nodded. “Very well. We’ll eat in some gods-forsaken Muggle establishment. I’ll make sure to pack some antacid. Now come along. We have work to do.”

As they began to assemble the ingredients into a large copper cauldron, Harry mentioned their previous discussion. “You give any thought to topics of conversation?”

“Oh, that.”

“That.”

“Harry, the problem is there isn’t anything I can talk about that he’ll find interesting. I teach, I make potions. Since the war ended, that’s pretty much all I do.”

“So, you ask him questions and you let him talk. It’s really not that difficult.”

“Coming up with the questions isn’t difficult?”

Harry started handing Snape the jars of prepared herbs and oils. “Not a bit,” he said, watching with interest as Snape deftly removed the fragrant herbs from each bottle without spilling a drop of the precious oils. “For example, before the opera, ask him if he’s ever seen it before. If he has, ask if he enjoyed it. Where did he see it. Who was in it. What did he like best. What is he most looking forward to in the performance that night. If he hasn’t, then what has he heard about it. What operas has he enjoyed and when and where and why.”

“And that will work?”

“Without fail. I promise. The trick is to ask open-ended questions about Remus. Ask the question and then wait for him to answer. His answer will give you a clue how to proceed.”

“Sounds like work.”

“It is work,” Harry agreed. “Or rather, it can be. It can also be a lot of fun. You get to find out things about each other that you’d never suspect otherwise.”

“So we talk about the opera.”

“Or other things,” Harry said. “Especially afterward. You can discuss the performance, the theater, the plot. The restaurant, the waiter, the food. The music, the people around you, plans for the weekend… It’s really not that hard.”

“What if I run out of things to talk about? What if he just doesn’t like my questions?”

In that vaguely panicked moment, Snape resembled Ron Weasley so much, Harry felt almost nostalgic for that day last year when Ron had asked the exact same questions before dating one of the Patil sisters. “He will. Trust me. You’ll appear interested in him and that’s always flattering to a person.”

“Flattery. That’s another thing.”

“Right. You’ll need to compliment him, I’d say…” Harry thought a moment. “At least five different times about five different things.”

Snape looked slightly alarmed. “That’s… rather… specific.”

“I know,” Harry said. “And it works. Compliment his clothes, his eyes, his hands, his taste in music and his company. But not, I repeat not, within fifteen minutes of each other. Space it out. Act like you’ve just noticed, or like you’ve just gotten the courage to say it. He’ll be charmed. I promise.”

“You’re making a lot of promises,” Snape observed. He’d finished with the jars and had moved on to the ramekins of crushed roots.

“Hey, it’s all time-tested. And,” he added. “I’m not the only one who’s tested them. This advice comes straight from the Gryffindor Guide to Good Sex, twenty-seventh edition.”

“The what!?” Snape sputtered.

Harry chuckled. “I couldn’t believe it, either. But there is one. It’s kept in the Gryffindor seventh-year boys’ dorm. Hermione says there’s a girl’s version, too, but she refused to show us. Don’t the Slytherins have anything similar?”

Snape thought a moment, then got a peculiar look on his face. He glanced at Harry, then shook his head, allowing his long, inky hair to cover his face. “No, not at all,” he replied, but his voice was strange and Harry strongly suspected the man was lying.

“Too bad,” he said casually. “The book was a lifesaver. Even Neville got laid using the rules in that book.”

Snape’s head jerked up in shock. “Longbottom? Longbottom got… Who – who shagged him?”

The idea of Snape saying ‘shag’ struck Harry as rather funny. He laughed at that more than the answer. “I’m not going to say. She’s still a student here. But she was a bit younger.”

Snape’s eyes got wide.

“Not that young!” Harry hastened to assure him. “She was fifteen and… well… Neville wasn’t her first, so…” He shrugged.

“Promise me he didn’t drug her or force her or –“

“Absolutely not! Severus, this is Neville Longbottom we’re talking about, not Vincent Crabbe!”

Snape closed his mouth and studiously focused on the copper cauldron.

In apology for thoughtlessly reminding the Head of House about the boy who had been expelled after assaulting Susan Bones in the third floor girls’ lavatory, Harry began rinsing out the jars in the large stone sink. He heard Snape cover the cauldron and exit the room through the door into his private study. Harry felt terrible. He’d meant to have a lighthearted conversation and instead had brought up what had to be one of Snape’s worse memories of his teaching career.

Crabbe had followed Susan into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom. If the ghost had been there at the start, things might have turned out differently for the shy and sweet Hufflepuff girl. But they were alone and no one heard Susan’s desperate cries for help. It wasn’t until Myrtle managed to float her way back up the drainpipes and found Crabbe hunched over Susan that the assault was discovered. Myrtle immediately fled to the Bloody Baron’s side to inform him, who informed the staff. Justice was swift.

Harry still remembered the swirl of gossip, the hushed horror, the tears on the other girls’ faces and the confused anger on the other boys’, and the look of shock, disappointment and supreme sadness on Snape’s. He’d been the one to snap Crabbe’s wand and he’d been the one to inform Susan’s guardians. Rumor had it he’d also arranged for Susan to receive Muggle counseling as well as a private tutor, although the girl returned to classes two weeks after her attack. It was the first time Harry had seen the potions master act in his stead as Head of Slytherin, the first time he’d seen him act with compassion.

While the incident was horrible, the idea of Snape as a human being was not. I guess I’m learning a lot about Severus Snape these past weeks, Harry thought to himself. I almost like the guy. No, no wait. I do like him. Odd, that.

**

Saturday dawned and Harry found himself cheerfully awake with the birds. It took him a moment to realize just why he was so happy to stop sleeping; today was the day he took Snape shopping. After feeding his pet snake and cleaning Hedwig’s cage, he got the morning Muggle paper and made breakfast. Sirius showed up around ten for his own meal; that night was the full moon and Remus was doing everything he could to save up enough sleep in preparation.

“You’ve got enough Muggle money on you?” Sirius asked.

Harry nodded. “Plenty. Plus my Gringott’s credit card. Besides, I’m pretty sure Snape’s going to want to pay for his own clothes.”

Sirius shrugged. “If you say so. He’s just as likely to say it’s part of the deal that you buy him a tuxedo. Git.”

“Relax, Padfoot,” Harry said. “He’s nervous about this date. It’s actually kind of sweet. He wants to impress Remus.” He grinned lopsidedly. “It’s cute.”

“If you say so,” Sirius said with a snort. He focused his attention on his Daily Prophet. “Just as long as I don’t have to do anything more than say ‘hello’ when he gets here.”

“All I ask is that you’re civil,” Harry said. “You can manage civil.”

A muttering groan was his only reply.

**

It was a simple matter for Harry to floo to the station in Diagon Alley. He whistled a bit as he strolled up the street toward the Leaky Cauldron. He was a bit early, so he wandered into Quality Quidditch Supplies for a quick look at the latest Zephyr 3000 model luxury touring broom. It came with advanced cushioning charms, automatic steering and a North Star System. If a rider became lost, or was uncertain of his location, a quick spell would display a map of the surrounding area and lead the broom to its destination. Harry was impressed. He didn’t need such a broom, but he was impressed all the same.

He arrived at the Leaky Cauldron precisely on time and was unsurprised to note that Snape was already there. Both men were dressed in Muggle clothes, but only Harry looked truly comfortable. Even though Snape wore black jeans and a grey knit jumper, he managed to seem ill at ease.

“Nice jeans,” Harry said, aiming for friendly but hitting ‘snark.’

“Thanks,” Snape replied. “Yours are…” He let his sentence drift a moment before saying, “Are you ready?”

Harry couldn’t help but grin at Snape’s unspoken crack about his clothes. He knew his jeans were faded, but he also knew that it didn’t matter what condition jeans were in. Faded or fresh, they were always in style. “Let’s go,” he said, leading the way to the front door.

Once outside, Harry swiftly hailed a taxi and they headed off to Saville Row. Still somewhat unfamiliar with Muggle London, Harry spent the time staring at the tall buildings and the throngs of people. He noticed that Snape sat stiffly in his place and stared directly ahead. At one point, Harry asked him if he were okay. Snape replied that he was, but he still did not look in any other direction but forward.

The taxi dropped them off in front of M. Loudon’s Menswear. Harry paid their fare and joined Snape on the sidewalk. He caught sight of Snape’s expression and asked, “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Snape just shook his head. “How Muggles can take their lives in their hands so casually is frightening. Did you see how fast that man was going? It’s insane. We could have been killed and for what? A suit of clothes?”

“Um, Severus? We weren’t going all that fast,” he said carefully. “He never even hit the speed limit.”

“That is hardly the point, Harry,” Snape insisted. “There were other cars on the road, too.”

And Harry thought he understood at that point. Wizards floo’d or Apparated or rode broomsticks individually. Not like Muggles, who traveled in groups and in sight of each other and were therefore used to such things as traffic jams and rules of the road. To the untrained eye, it probably did appear that they were in danger just by being in a car among all the other cars and lorries and buses. “The thing to remember,” he said gently, “is that no one wants to be in an accident, so no one’s actively looking to cause one. Once you realize that, riding around in cars isn’t all that scary.”

“I was not scared!”

Harry stared at him for a moment, amazed at how easily Snape could deny an obvious fact. “Whatever you say, sir,” he said carefully. “Let’s go in the store now. All right?”

“Fine.”

**

Edmund Miller was having a slow week. He’d worked four shifts in a row and gotten no commissions. It was just housewives looking for socks and ties these days. Or older businessmen, hopelessly straight. He’d thought working in an exclusive men’s clothing store would give a boost to his sex life, but lately, all he’d been getting was sore feet from standing around all day. Not the way the twenty-two year old wanted to get a sore anything, but money had to be made somewhere.

But it was Saturday and usually things happened on Saturdays. True, it was usually more housewives with their henpecked husbands, but at least there’d be money involved. He sighed, then turned as he heard the door chime. A customer! And his manager had gone out for lunch. The sale was all his. Perfect.

He hurried to the front of the store and brought his hands together smoothly. He introduced himself, his mouth on autopilot as his eyes took in the decidedly delicious couple in front of him. The older man was approximately forty, Edmund decided, but he wore it extremely well. He had on a grey sweater and black jeans, but as they were of such obvious quality, and the man exuded such obvious power, Edmund knew he was wealthy with a capital pound sign. The younger man, about eighteen or nineteen, could have been the man’s son, but somehow Edmund doubted it. The boy was too pretty to be anything other than a companion, probably paid. Bugger it.

“And how can I help you today?” he asked.

The man didn’t reply, but the boy was certainly eager enough to say, “He needs a tuxedo.”

Ka-CHING!

“Wonderful, wonderful,” Edmund said, trying not to gush. “Step right this way. Let’s get you measured first and then we can find the right style. I’m thinking Armani, but let’s not be hasty!” He guided the two men to the back of the store where the fitting area was located. He was disappointed, but unsurprised when the boy sat down in the wives’ chair to watch.

“Please, sir,” Edmund said. “If you wouldn’t mind removing those lovely boots…?” He looked at the man’s feet. “Italian?”

“I’m British, you twit.”

The man’s voice went straight to Edmund’s groin. He stared, enraptured, at the man’s onyx eyes. He’s not only wealthy and powerful, Edmund decided, but damn sexy as hell. He glanced at the boy. He must be one hell of a shag, he thought, to keep this one around.

“I meant the boots, sir,” Edmund managed to explain. “They look Italian. Whoever chose those has exquisite taste.”

“Um… thank you.”

Edmund hid his smile as he produced his tape measure. This was the best part of his job. He stepped close to the stocking-footed man. “Now, how do you prefer your collars?” he asked as he slid his arms around the man’s neck.

“I want them to fit,” he replied in that same strangely compelling voice. “But not choke,” he added.

Edmund nodded, taking note of the measurement. He stepped around to the man’s back and measured from shoulder to shoulder. The heat coming off the man’s body made him weak in the knees, but he recovered and moved to get a clipboard and an order form. He jotted down the numbers and then moved back to the man to measure his arms.

“And where do you prefer your cuffs to end?”

“At my wrists, of course,” the man snapped.

Merciful heavens, Edmund sighed inwardly, but I would crawl for that man right now if he asked me to!

“Relax, Severus,” the boy drawled. “Let the man do his job, okay?”

Severus, hm? That was an interesting name. It suited the man, Edmund thought as he marked another measurement on his sheet. It was old-fashioned and stern, yet silky on the tongue. He wondered if Severus’s skin was as silky as his name. Probably, he decided.

The next was the best part. He put his arms around Severus to measure his chest and then his waist. “I think a closely fitted tuxedo would look smashing on you, sir,” Edmund suggested. “Unless you prefer something looser…?”

“No, no,” Severus replied. “Whatever you suggest will suffice, I’m sure.”

“Wonderful,” Edmund smiled. He knelt, then put his arms once more around the man, this time to measure his hips which were level with his head. Dear god, he mentally sighed, but he was thisclose to his… but no! Best not to think about such things. After all, the man’s little boy toy was right there, watching. You might not have a shot at getting this guy in bed, but at least you could get credit for the sale and you know he’ll have to come back to get the tux when its ready. Relax. This is not your only opportunity to get near him, he scolded himself.

He got up to jot down the measurements. “If you’d stand up on the platform now, sir,” he said. The man did and Edmund measured the length of his leg, and then his inseam. It was torturous to touch the man’s – Severus’s – inner thigh like that, but he had a job to do and Edmund was going to do it come hell or high water. “Do you prefer a tapered leg or a looser cuff?” he asked.

The man shrugged. “Whatever you would suggest,” he replied. He sounded weary.

“I assure you, sir, you’re in excellent hands,” he said. He looked at the boy. “Will you be getting measured, too?”

“Oh, no!” the boy said, shaking his head negatively. “I’m just here for moral support.”

“I… see,” Edmund said slowly, the gears turning in his head. Maybe, just maybe, the boy wasn’t the man’s lover at all. Maybe, just maybe, the boy was just a friend. He didn’t look like he’d be just a friend, but what did appearances really mean? After all, they weren’t bickering like every other gay couple he’d known.

Until he started showing them the tuxedos.

Over an hour and more than a hundred styles, designers and suggestions later, they had finally all agreed on what Severus should wear to the opera. Edmund was also quite confused. The two men certainly seemed to set each other off well enough, but Severus was taking someone called ‘Remus’ to the opera and Harry had somehow set the two of them up, more fool he, Edmund decided. If he’d had a chance at Severus, there was no way on this planet he’d let him get away!

Nope, Harry was a fool.

The tuxedo they decided upon was going to make the tall, slender, dark-haired man look perfectly elegant and perfectly sensual. Black coat and slacks and a crisp white shirt, it was a traditional look but with a continental flair. Edmund could hardly wait to see Severus try it on.

“If you’ll just fill this part out,” he said, handing him the order form and indicating the place for Severus’s name, address and telephone number, “we’ll call you when it’s ready for your fitting. If all goes well, and it should, you’ll be able to pick it up the Friday before the opera.”

Edmund watched as Severus hesitated. A moment passed before Harry said, “Oh!” and took the form from him, swiftly filling it out. “Call me and I’ll get the message to him. I’ve got an answering machine. Just leave a message.”

Edmund smiled. “Wonderful,” he said with a smile. But he was still confused. Did they live together or did they not? They didn’t act like roommates, they certainly didn’t act like lovers. Was it just that Severus didn’t like to hand out his address? He wondered if the man was just one of the eccentric wealthy class or if there were some other reason. Like maybe, he thought to his increasing horror, he’d picked up on Edmund’s signals and was too polite to tell him he was uninterested! Oh, no – he’d made a fool of himself!

He refused to cringe, however, when he shook Severus’s hand and then Harry’s. “We’ll be in contact with you. Have a wonderful afternoon!”

The men left and Edmund slumped onto the register counter. He’d quite possibly fouled everything up. Blast. Nothing in his life was ever going to go right.

**

Harry waited until they were halfway down the sidewalk away from M. Loudon’s before collapsing helplessly into laughter.

“What in Merlin’s name are you sniggering at?” Snape demanded irritably.

“Oh, gods, Severus!” Harry laughed. “Edmund! He was so -! Didn’t you see-? Oh, come on! It was obvious!”

“What was obvious? What should I have seen? What are you getting on about?”

Harry sobered a bit before replying, “Edmund. The sales clerk at the shop?” Severus nodded impatiently. “He was hitting on you.”

Snape blinked. “He was not.”

“He was too! And when you wouldn’t fill out the order form, well, he looked so… so… stricken! It was hilarious,” he said, still chuckling. “But also kind of sad. He looked so disappointed.”

“He was not ‘hitting on me,’” Snape declared firmly.

“Of course, he was!”

“He wasn’t.”

“He was!”

“No, Mr. Potter,” Snape repeated. “He was not.”

“Prove it.”

“Easily. Men do not, generally nor as a rule, hit on me.”

All the fun had been sucked out of the conversation by Snape’s dogged insistence. Harry was not pleased to find himself having a serious discussion in the middle of a well-traveled sidewalk. “You can’t seriously believe that. Surely lots of blokes hit on you. Okay, maybe not at Hogwarts, and maybe not in Hogsmeade where everyone knows you, but surely they do occasionally.”

“Not as a rule,” Snape said again.

“Why not? I mean, how can you say that? How could it possibly be true?”

Snape stared at him, perplexed and obviously not relishing the course of their discussion. He pulled Harry by the shoulder closer to the buildings and out of the paths of the other pedestrians before saying in a low voice, “Because it is true. I’m not the sort of person other people go out of their way to approach. I’ve never been that sort of person. I am not that sort of person now.” He sighed. “I’m the sort of person who approaches others after careful consideration and a good idea that I won’t be turned down. That’s just the way it is. Or used to be,” he added sourly, shaking his head. “As I’ve said before. This has been a difficult decade.”

Harry looked back at him for a long moment. Finally he shook his head and took Severus by the arm, grabbing his surprisingly firm triceps to guide him further along the sidewalk. “Come on, Severus,” he said, half-growling. “Let’s get some lunch and then we can discuss this terrible impression you have of yourself. It won’t do you any favors with Remus if you’re constantly asking yourself why he’s with you.”

“I know why he’s with me,” Snape replied blithely. “He’s with me so you can get laid again.”

Harry’s only response was a well-timed glare. They walked to the restaurant in silence.

**

Why couldn’t Harry understand? Why couldn’t he see the simple truth of the matter? He just wasn’t that attractive. True, he wasn’t ugly. He was honest enough to know that, when he cleaned himself up and made an attempt to look nice, he was not repulsive. He was not, say, a Goyle. He’d never be a Malfoy, but he was not a Goyle!

But Harry had spent the majority of their lunch together trying to get him to see himself as more than that. Severus thought it was a fruitless, frivolous waste of time. “Harry, face facts. My nose is too big for my face, my hair suffers from my profession and I have a rather noticeable and off-putting tattoo on my left forearm. I am hardly the next Gilderoy Lockhart,” he said, hoping for the last time to put an end to Harry’s protestations.

He failed.

“Nonsense! Your nose isn’t too big for your face,” the young man declared. “I’ve seen pictures of you when you were younger and, yeah, it was a big nose then. But you’ve grown into it. It suits you. You’d look ridiculous with any other sort of nose. And your hair gets greasy from standing over a cauldron all day long. So would anyone’s. But right now you look quite fit and I venture to say that in your tuxedo you’ll knock Remus’s socks off. He won’t know what hit him.”

“They say that every Wizard looks good in formal robes,” Snape replied. “I suppose that must be true for Muggle suits as well.”

“I promise you,” Harry said. “You will look… Hang on…”

“What? What is it?” Harry had a strange look on his face that made Snape rather uneasy. The other man was staring at him in a calculating way, as if measuring him for something. Snape wasn’t certain he liked it. The Slytherin part of his brain told him Harry was Up To Something.

Harry grinned. “Just thinking. How’d you like to visit a hair salon while we’re here?”

“A… what?”

“A hair salon,” Harry repeated, still grinning. “Hermione brought Ron to one a few months ago. It did wonders for him.”

Snape absentmindedly reached up to brush his black hair from his face. “And what, precisely, happens at these ‘hair salons’?”

Harry motioned to the waiter for their check, then replied, “You’ll see. You’ll love the results. I promise. And it’ll be my treat.”

**

The salon was noisy, colorful and crowded. Snape did not love it. A tall, rather thin man in a violet shirt and tight pants took immediate charge of Snape, dragging him to one of the strange chairs that faced a wall of mirrors. Harry followed.

“I want him to have a complete makeover,” Harry told the thin man. “Cut, color, conditioning treatment. The works. I’m paying so don’t let him talk you out of it, okay?”

The thin man smiled. “I assure you, he’s in good hands. Perhaps you might come back in about… say… two hours?”

Snape looked horrified. Harry merely smiled and nodded his head. “Two hours will be fine. Have fun, Severus!” He waved cheerily and hastily exited the salon.

**

Two hours later…

Harry strolled into the salon, still sipping at a take-away Coke, a bag of books hanging from his arm. He glanced around the shop, noting the dearth of customers and the collection of stylists hovered around one particular chair. He grinned. It was Severus. It had to be.

He dropped his bag of books into one of the empty chairs and approached the throng of people. As he got closer, he could distinguish the conversation from the throbbing dance music being played on the salon’s PA system.

“It looks wonderful, Sev! I knew that color would suit you,” said the girl leaning on the counter of supplies.

“Thank you, Marina.” That was… ‘Sev’? He’s letting them call him ‘Sev’?

“Just a tiny touch more… and there! What do you think of that, hm?” That was the thin man, the stylist.

“Scottie, you’re a genius!” That wasn’t Severus, but another young man leaning on a push broom.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Scottie replied. “But what do you think, Sevvie?”

Sevvie? Harry stood on the outskirts of the conversation now.

A pause.

“I think… I quite like it. I hardly look like myself anymore.”

Laughter, then, “You look more like yourself, Sevvie,” Scottie said. “Face up to it. You’re a knockout!”

Someone moved and Harry got a good look at what two hours in a hair salon could do with Severus Snape. In short, a miracle.

Gone were the stringy strands of inky black hair. Gone was the sallow complexion, the harsh frown lines. Gone was any indication that the man in the chair had ever done a spot of work in his entire life.

Replacing all that was one of the most handsome men Harry had ever seen. Severus’s hair had been cut, but not too much, and styled, but not too drastically. His hair was shorter, but now it swept back from his face and spiky fringe framed the features. His hair was still dark, but now it shimmered with an iridescent reddish violet color that seemed to bring out the warmth and depth of his deep-set eyes. The color even made his smiling lips seem pink.

Smiling?

Severus was smiling.

At Harry.

Who blinked.

“What do you think, Harry?”

Harry blinked again. “Wow,” he breathed. “You look…” Good enough to eat. Good enough to eat twice and save for a midnight snack. “… different.”

More laughter. Scottie clapped Harry on the shoulder. “It’s a change, I know, but as I told Sevvie, there’s nothing wrong with updating your look now and then.”

Harry shook his head.

Scottie took a closer look at Harry. “You interested in having a go with me?”

“I beg your pardon?”

Snape snickered, avidly watching their conversation.

“I could… try to do something with your hair,” Scottie said slowly, running a professional hand through the mop of disorganization that was Harry’s not-so-crowning glory.

“Um, no thanks,” he replied. “We’ve got to get back. It’s almost time for dinner.”

Scottie smiled. “No problem. We could set up an appointment, if you’re interested. Like I told Sev here, I adore a challenge.”

Harry smiled uneasily as Snape got to his feet. He watched, amazed and speechless, as Snape took the hand of each of the female hairdressers in turn and thanked them for the services they had provided. Then Snape turned to Scottie who held out his arms. To Harry’s eternal astonishment, the two men embraced like brothers, with Scottie even going so far as to kiss Snape on the cheek.

“You’ll be the beau of the ball, Severus,” Scottie said with a smile. “Just see if you aren’t.”

Harry went to go pay the bill, hardly noticing the rather large total and automatically adding a substantial tip. He was in a daze until Snape guided him out the door and back onto the sidewalk. He had barely remembered to collect his bag of books before exiting and now held them tightly in his arms. He stared up at Snape who was still grinning, and asked, “Who are you and what have you done with Severus Snape?”

In reply, Snape laughed, shook his head and pulled Harry along with him down the sidewalk towards a waiting cab. “Let’s go home, Harry,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

Harry rather agreed with him, but as he got into the cab, he saw an attractive, thirtyish man strolling toward them. The man’s eyes slid up and down Snape’s body with obvious approval. Snape stood quite still, almost stunned, but then he relaxed and returned the man’s attention. Harry wondered for a moment if Snape didn’t want to make it an even longer day, but without him along.

But the thirtyish man kept on walking and Snape, after carefully observing the man’s gait, slid into the taxi and shut the door. Harry gave the address and the cab sped off into the darkening city.

**

This time, Snape consciously decided not to pay attention to the passing cars and the speed of the taxicab. Instead, he focused his gaze on the worn headrest in front of him and his thoughts on his rather extraordinary afternoon.

The salon had been an unexpected and ultimately fascinating experience. No one else had cut his hair for him since his mother insisted on doing it for him every June and every August. She had hated to see him with long hair, though he adored it, and had ruthlessly cut it short before each school term and immediately upon his arrival home in the early summer, while he refused to cut it during the school year. After moving out of the family home, he’d tried to keep it long, but Voldemort wouldn’t allow it. Snape’s long hair was too easily identifiable, He said. Snape was reluctant to admit that his mother and the Dark Lord had another point; long hair and bubbling cauldrons did not quite mix. Short hair simply made better sense.

It didn’t mean he had to like it, though.

But Scottie, the stylist, had managed to make his short hair look, if not attractive, at least not horrifying. ‘It’ll bring out your bone structure,’ the man had said. ‘You’ve got beautiful bone structure. It’s a crime against God to hide it.’

The others in the salon had agreed that Snape looked much better with shorter hair. It still rankled him, though. Long hair was just sexy. He’d said as much to Scottie, who’d agreed with him to a point. ‘It’s sexy, yes, and on you it would be devastating, darling,’ he’d said, ‘but for your purposes, short is the way to go. The men aren’t going to know what’s hit them!’

Harry’s reaction was proof enough of that. Snape had often seen the boy dumbstruck by beauty. He got a certain wide-eyed, caught in wand-light look whenever that irritating Ravenclaw Seeker approached him, or, in later years, whenever Draco Malfoy had partnered with him in potions class. It had been amusing to see the famous Harry Potter staring with abject adoration at some unsuspecting and uninterested person. Amusing and sad, really, because everyone should know how to interact with people one lusts after but knows one will never get a chance at. Snape certainly did.

But for Harry to look that way at him? That was unexpected. That was surprising. That was a little bit more than a thrill. It put him, Severus Snape, the greasy, skinny, unwanted Slytherin, on a level with Cho Chang and Draco Malfoy, at least in Harry’s estimation.

Not a bad place to be.

If Harry thought he was attractive, what would Remus think? A hopeful spark leapt up in his heart. If he could get the handsome lycanthrope to look at him like Harry just had, that would be…

His thoughts were interrupted by Harry saying quietly, “He was cute, wasn’t he.”

“Hm? Who?”

“The bloke on the street. The one who smiled at you. The one you smiled back at.”

“I did not smile at anyone. I just looked. And neither did he smile at me.” The bloke on the street? That rather attractive man in the well-fitting trousers who looked so oddly at him? What about him, he wondered, idly tugging at the short ends of his hair.

Harry crossed his arms and stared out the side window at the passing buildings. “He was checking you out, though.”

“So?” And he was not. He was staring at you, Harry. I thought it was obvious. Next to you, no one would ever notice me. How could they?

“It was just…” His voice trailed off.

Snape tried to figure out what Harry’s problem was. What his current problem was, anyway. He sounded… jealous? “Actually, Harry,” Snape heard himself admitting, “he was looking at you. They all look at you.”

Harry turned to look at him. “Who does? What are you talking about?”

Snape sighed. “Everywhere we’ve been, I’ve noticed that everyone looks at you. They’re all trying to get your attention. How can you not know that?”

He made a dismissive gesture. “I know who you mean and they don’t count.” He nodded his head toward the Muggle driver.

“That’s not all who I mean,” said Snape. “You’re an… attractive young man in the bloom of young adulthood. It’s only natural that others would notice you.”

Harry nodded contemplatively. “I see what you’re saying, but that doesn’t mean that guy wasn’t looking at you. I saw him giving you the eye. And you looked back. Don’t deny it. Thanks, though, for the compliment.”

Snape didn’t reply. It was probably useless to continue arguing about it. Harry Potter was a decidedly beautiful young man, especially lately. Since the defeat of Voldemort, the circles under his eyes had faded, as had his lightening bolt scar. His skin was once again a healthy color, his eyes sparkled with humor and life, and his every movement seemed once again graceful and energetic. He had been reborn and if the boy couldn’t see it, too bad.

Still, nothing like that happened for Snape. His Dark Mark had become simply a rather ugly tattoo on his left forearm. His nose was still large, his hair still a problem, his reputation still sullied black. He had not been reborn, but he was trying to restart his life. A haircut wasn’t exactly the same as Harry’s six weeks of enforced rest under Poppy Pomfrey’s care, but it would have to do.

Harry broke the silence again. “You do know that if you want, you can just drop me off at the Cauldron and we’ll meet up again on Wednesday as planned.”

Severus frowned slightly. “What are you getting at? Why wouldn’t I go back to the school?”

“Nothing, really,” he said. “Just that, if you wanted to, you could always stay longer in London. You know, to see the sights. Get a taste of the nightlife. Check out some more blokes on the street. That sort of thing.”

“Ah,” Snape replied. “I see.” Not that he did, unless Harry was trying to get rid of him for some reason. Or, scarily, trying to live vicariously through him. He supposed that Harry would have been spending his time shagging every available body within arm’s reach if he hadn’t been rendered impotent. There was no reason to think he would have ever gone back to Hogwarts for a visit, much less spend so much time in Snape’s presence. The realization saddened him. The knowledge that he’d probably never see Harry again after his cure bothered him, too, but he refused to think much about it. He tugged at his hair again, wondering if it were now too short and if a lengthening charm would be a good idea.

They sat quietly for another moment or two before Snape continued with, “I shan’t, though. I have other demands on my time. Papers to grade and no doubt Minerva will have some complaint or other about a student’s behavior. It was a Hogsmeade weekend, after all.”

Another bit of silence, then Snape felt himself forced to add, “Besides. That man probably stares at every man he sees. I’m sure it wasn’t anything personal or anything for me to get excited over.”

Harry chuckled, a gentle sound. “You really don’t think much of yourself, do you.”

“Of course, I do!” Severus shifted on the bench seat. “I’m quite possibly the smartest student to come through Hogwarts in a hundred years and certainly the most talented at –“ and here his eyes flicked to the cab driver “-my profession, if test scores are any indication. I come from a good family. I make a decent living. Except for some rather unsavory aspects of my past which have been thoroughly repented, I’m a quite decent fellow. True, I’m not especially attractive, but I’m not ugly either. A man could do a lot worse than be with me.”

“That’s not quite the same thing, though,” Harry replied. “I don’t think you think you’re anyone a man would want to be with. Would choose to be with. There’s a difference between choosing to be with someone and not minding ending up there.”

“And that man on the street would choose to be with me? Is that what you’re trying to say?” The very idea! It was enough to make him laugh until he cried, though he wouldn’t dream of actually doing so. Not in front of Harry Potter.

“Well,” Harry shrugged. “I couldn’t say for sure, but he was definitely checking you out and he was liking what he was seeing.” He glanced at the older man. “You do look good, you know. That hairstyle is… it looks really good on you. Which makes me wonder, what in hell did those people do to you to make you so… so… un-Snape-like?”

Snape frowned in confusion, then let his face dissolve into a trademark smirk. “What, you didn’t appreciate my people skills?”

“Severus,” Harry snarked, “you don’t have people skills.”

“And you don’t possess an ounce of tact,” he retorted. He settled back against the seat. “Fine. After you left me to the tender mercies of those Muggles,” and he softly murmured the word with another eye toward the uncaring cabbie, “I realized I would more than likely end up looking ridiculous no matter what I did or said. I also realized that no matter what I ended up looking like, I could just as easily fix it myself when I got back. So I let them do what they wanted. My acquiescence irked Scottie enough for him to demand that I tell him my limits regarding my personal appearance. I told him. He did as I asked. That was that. He was… kind. And quite talented. And quite taken with you, by the way.”

That last bit caught Harry by surprise. Startled, he said only, “He what?”

Snape smirked. “He kept asking me about you. What you were like, what you liked to do, if you were seeing anyone.”

Harry blinked. “And what did you tell him?”

With an innocent expression, Snape replied, “The truth, of course. That you were an irritating brat with little or no sense of self-preservation. That you liked to put yourself in danger. That you were not seeing anyone, as far as I knew.”

But something must have told Harry there was more to it than that. “What else?” he pressed. “Go on. Tell me. You told him, after all.”

“Very well,” Snape acceded. “I also told him you were becoming quite an engaging young man with a quick wit and a healthy self-image. I also informed him you were impotent.”

“You -! What -!”

The cab pulled to the curb in front of the bookstore next to the Leaky Cauldron. Snape opened the door and stepped onto the pavement. Harry dug in his jeans pocket for his money clip, produced two ten pound notes and handed them to the driver before sliding out of the cab after him. He grabbed Snape’s arm just as the cab pulled away. “You didn’t! Tell me you didn’t, Severus!”

“Of course, I did,” Snape replied evenly. “You didn’t expect me to lie, did you?”

Harry sputtered, trying to form a reply, but Snape merely entered the Cauldron, smiling in his patented particularly infuriating way.

**

They spoke no more about it. The days passed and the potion progressed until finally, one late evening, Snape proclaimed that everything was done now except for the twenty-four hour boil, the thirty-six hour freeze and the natural thaw to room temperature. “I can take care of that myself,” he told Harry. “The potion will be ready to ingest by noon on Saturday.”

“Right,” Harry said, nodding. “I’ll have lunch before? Or would food interfere with the potion, do you think?”

“Have a light lunch,” Snape decided. “Some soup and crackers in case the potion disagrees with you, which it may very well. And remember the side-effects. You’ll be experiencing them for a good six hours or so. Will my quarters suffice as a hospital room? Or do you want Poppy tending to you?”

“Gods, no,” Harry declared. “Not for this. Never for this. I couldn’t… no. Definitely not. The fewer who know about this, the better. Your rooms will be fine. Do you… do you think the side-effects will be… well… don’t you think the warnings are probably exaggerated?”

Snape’e expression was bland. “Not at all. I fully expect to have to reinforce my silencing charms. Now then, about Friday night…”

**

Friday night was hell on Harry’s nerves. First, Remus spent two hours in the bathtub, singing along to one of Harry’s CDs. The effect was not quite harmonious. True to his lycanthropy, Remus howled more than sang and the sound echoed unbearably against the bathroom tiles.

Downstairs, Harry and Sirius tried to have a quiet dinner, but they ended up wincing each time Remus aimed for the high notes in Brian Setzer’s ‘Jump, Jive and Wail.’

“When is Snape picking him up?” Sirius growled.

“Seven,” Harry replied. He glanced at the clock. “We’ve got another hour. He should be getting out of the tub now.”

“Thank god. If I have to listen one more time to that bloody song…!”

Resigned to their fate, the two men began cleaning up the dinner dishes. “You going out tonight?” Harry asked.

“Maybe down to the pub, but not until Snape gets here. I have got to see what he looks like.” Sirius grinned. “After your description, or lack of it, I should say, I’ll admit to being curious.”

Harry retrieved his wand and pointed it at the sink. A moment later, the dishes began dunking themselves into suddenly soapy water, washing themselves obediently. “You be nice, all right? He doesn’t really need you sniping at him.”

“I’ll be an angel,” Sirius promised, getting out the broom and charming it to sweep the floor. “I promise.”

After cleaning up the kitchen, they settled down in the parlor for a game of chess and to wait. They heard Remus go into his own room, and knew he’d finally gotten out of the bath. He was still singing, though.

By seven, Harry was too nervous to concentrate on the chessboard. Snape was due any moment. He wondered if he should have owled the man that morning and go over the schedule one last time. But no, Snape knew what he had to do. He had to Apparate to the limousine rental agency, get into the car and be driven to Harry’s house. He already had the tickets to La Boheme, the tuxedo and the Muggle money for dinner afterward. He should be all set. So where was he?

At five minutes after seven, Harry was on his feet, pacing the parlor floor. He heard Remus upstairs, singing unconcernedly. He saw Sirius smirking at the chessboard. And then he saw a long black car pulling to a stop in front of the house. “He’s here!” Harry blurted out before rushing to the door.

“Relax, Harry,” Sirius said, standing as well. “You’d think he was picking you up.”

“Right.” Harry slowed down and waited for the knock that signaled Snape was actually there. He refused to look through one of the windows on either side of the front door to watch the man stride up the cobblestone walk, nor look at his godfather to see if he was smirking at him. He tried to take a calming breath… then they heard the polite knock.

Harry grabbed the handle and swung the door open, a greeting on his lips that died a swift and pitiless death. Standing on his front porch, not two feet in front of him, was a man. A man in an elegant, formfitting, black tuxedo. A man whose hair perfectly accented high cheekbones, arched eyebrows, deep-set onyx eyes, a Roman nose, a strong jaw and a sensually curved mouth. A man whose neck and shoulders bespoke of quiet strength and the ability to protect and defend. A man whose hands and long fingers smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the front of his jacket, gestures that brought to mind soothing caresses along a naked spine. A man whose slender hips and long legs evoked an image of power and sexuality. Harry had a sudden flash of himself, wrapped around those hips, holding onto those shoulders, feeling the muscles bunch and strain as the man pounded into him. Standing in front of him was the most compelling man he’d ever seen. Standing in front of him was Severus Snape.

Who was staring at him with a more than bewildered expression on his face. “Harry? Are you all right?”

“Yes! I’m fine, just fine,” Harry managed to say. “Come in, please.” He stepped aside to allow Snape to enter.

Sirius held out his hand in greeting. “Snape,” he said. “Nice suit.”

“Thank you,” Snape replied, shaking Sirius’s hand. “Is Remus ready?”

“I’ll get him,” Sirius offered. He headed up the main staircase, leaving the two of them alone in the entrance hall.

“Wow, Severus,” Harry managed to say. “You look… fantastic.”

A faint tinge of pink along Snape’s cheeks indicated his pleasure at the compliment. “Thank you,” he replied. “I’ll admit I was a little… nervous… oh, Remus!” He swallowed hard, staring up the staircase.

Harry turned and saw what distracted Snape so thoroughly. Remus was almost skipping down the stairs, his shiny half-boots clicking with each step. Dressed in a similar, if not quite as expensive tuxedo, the naturally handsome man radiated elegance and class. He smiled when he saw Snape. “Severus,” he said. “You look different. Your hair…!”

Harry thought he could detect a note of surprise in Remus’s demeanor. He probably didn’t expect Snape to clean up this well, Harry thought sourly. What did he think? That the man wouldn’t take even a small measure of care with his appearance? You idiot. He’s trying to impress you. Why wouldn’t he clean himself up as best he could?

“I got it cut,” Snape said softly, ducking his head. “It was Harry’s idea.”

Remus turned to Harry with a grin. “Good idea,” he said. “I approve.”

Not that it’s your place to approve, you jerk, Harry thought. Aloud, he only said, “It’s just a haircut. He’s the same man as he was before.” There, he told himself. That should remind Remus of a few pertinent facts. Like that the werewolf had ignored Snape all through school and was only now dating him because Harry had asked him and it was only now that Harry had gone to all the trouble to clean Snape up that Remus was at all happy about the situation.

No, that was probably unfair. Remus had every right to be picky about his boyfriends, even back in school. And Snape did look a thousand times better than he had before, if one were judging on a conventional sense. Harry was beginning to think that Snape had looked just as attractive before his big change-over as he did after. It was just in a different way.

The two men were saying good-night to Sirius and heading toward the door. Harry followed after them, calling, “Have a good time, you two!” though there was a devil on his shoulder that hoped they didn’t. He tried to ignore what that might say about him, that he wanted them to have a horrible evening.

The men got to the limo. The chauffeur opened the door. They got in, Remus first. Snape turned to look back at the house. His gaze caught Harry’s for a brief instant before he slid onto the seat and the chauffeur closed the door. Harry closed his own front door, trying to decide if Snape had given him a smile or not.

**

At twelve-thirty, Sirius called it a night and headed upstairs to bed. At one, Harry had given up all hope of ever finishing Hogwarts: a History, Revised Edition and commenced staring into the fireplace. Every slight noise, every shift of light made him jump and look out the front window.

“Where the hell are they?” he whispered to himself. “How long does it take to see an opera and eat? What could they possibly be doing?”

An image of what the two consenting adults could possibly be doing emerged unbidden in his mind. They would make a good couple, he thought. Severus was tall and dark, Remus slightly shorter and lighter. Severus was stoic, Remus happy-go-lucky. Opposites attract, Harry knew that. And Severus had been attracted to Remus since school. It was a long time to carry a torch, but another thing Harry knew about Severus was his tenacity.

Why was he still up? Why hadn’t he gone to sleep yet, like Sirius? Why was he still pacing the floor and jumping at odd noises? Why was he angry with Remus? Why wasn’t he happy for Severus, finally getting what he’d always wanted?

Because… because I don’t want him to want Remus, Harry thought bleakly. I want him to want, well, me. But that’ll never happen. He’s always been in love with Remus and if he hasn’t gotten over it by now, he never will. He’s doomed. Werewolves don’t mate for life, but apparently Snapes do. Damn it.

He sighed. Just give it up, Potter, he told himself. You never had a chance. He probably still thinks of you as a kid, anyway, and you should think of him as an old man. Of course, he’s not old. Not at all. But you should think of him that way. It’ll help. It can only help.

He turned away from the window and moved back to the fireplace. He stared at the heavy copy of Hogwarts: a History and groaned. He’d been trying to read the blasted thing for five years now and he was still stuck in the thirteenth century. He moved back toward the sofa, then stopped, startled to hear the gentle purr of a car engine from just outside. They were home.

Harry darted to the front hall and stared at the door. A moment’s hesitation later and he was peeking through the sheer curtain that lined the right side window. He saw the chauffeur open the passenger door and Severus step out, followed a moment later by Remus. They looked… comfortable with each other. Remus rested a hand on Severus’s shoulder while he tipped the driver, then the two men turned toward the house.

Arm in arm the men approached the porch, deep in conversation. Harry wondered what they were talking about and desperately wished for his wand and an eavesdropping spell. Through the sheer curtain he could see the men pause on the lower front porch step as Severus said something apparently amusing, for Remus smiled and laughed. Then they moved onto the porch itself.

From his angle, Harry could only see Remus’s back. He could hear nothing. He frowned. What was going on? Then suddenly, he knew. Severus’s hand appeared on Remus’s shoulder, then moved to cup the back of his head, holding the shorter man in place. They were kissing.

Harry felt a thud in his stomach and he stumbled back from the window. They were kissing!

He hurried into the parlor and stretched out onto the sofa, picking up his book. He knew Remus would be able to sense that he was recently in the room, so there was no point in hurrying upstairs now. He concentrated on calming his breathing and his heart rate.

What was taking them so long? It was just a good night kiss, for crying out loud!

He hated to think of how good it would feel to kiss Severus, to touch those sensually curved lips, to have those long fingers caressing the back of his head, to press up against that lean body. He shifted, bringing his legs up to stretch along the sofa, purposely bunching up his jeans and opening the book on his lap, refusing to think about the Freudian implications of covering up his perpetually flaccid penis. Remus would be opening the door any moment now. He prayed to every god and goddess he’d ever heard about that Remus would not be inviting Severus in with him. Harry didn’t think he could make breakfast in the morning if that were the case.

The doorknob turned, the door pushed open, and Harry heard Remus’s gentle laughter as he said goodnight to Severus. He didn’t hear Severus’s reply. A moment later, Remus was closing and locking the front door. He turned around, glanced in the parlor, then moved toward the stairs. He stopped, did a double-take. “Harry? You still up?”

“Oh, hi, Remus,” Harry said, aiming for a casual tone. “What time is it?”

“It’s just after one,” Remus replied. He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, a smile on his lips. “You weren’t waiting up for me, were you?”

“Well, I did set you two up,” Harry allowed. “How did it… how did it go?”

A broader grin. “It couldn’t have gone better. Severus was… Severus was…” Remus shook his head. “Severus was wonderful. A perfect gentleman. We had a marvelous time. Eh,” he said. “I’ll tell you both about it in the morning. I’m beat. Good night!”

Harry sat there in silence while Remus hurried up the stairs, whistling a jaunty tune. Strangely, he didn’t feel much like whistling himself. He closed his book and stared into the fire once more.


	4. Severus's Cure

Breakfast that Saturday morning was, for Harry, tense. For Sirius, it was illuminating and for Remus, it was celebratory.

“I can’t get over how different he was. How thoughtful and witty and patient,” the lycanthrope said with a sigh. “We had such a good conversation. He’s so fascinating! Who knew? He even held the door for me. He bought me a drink during intermission. He even held my hand while we walked back to the limo. Great limo, by the way, Harry.”

“Thanks.”

“And dinner was fabulous. Did I mention that? The filet was tender and perfectly cooked –“

“Yes, you mentioned that,” Sirius said dryly. “About a dozen times yet.”

“Well, it was.” Remus fell silent, focusing on his eggs and bacon. “He likes my hands.”

“Hm? What?” Harry asked, startled from his own thoughts.

“My hands,” Remus repeated. “He likes them. He says they’re ‘expressive.’ I didn’t think he noticed.” He held his left hand in front of his face, a dreamy expression in his eyes.

Sirius frowned a moment, then coughed and muttered, “Lockhart!”

Harry smirked at his godfather, but Remus appeared to take no notice.

“And he likes my eyes,” Remus continued. “He says they’re the color of warm honey. Most people just say they’re amber.”

“Nothing wrong with amber,” Harry said softly.

“So tell us, Moony,” Sirius began, “when’s the wedding?”

Remus blinked at his old friend. “Hm? What? What wedding?”

“The way you’re going on,” Sirius replied.

“And on, and on,” Harry added.

“It sounds like you’ve fallen in love with the guy. Have you?”

Harry refused to cringe or give any sign that he was more than politely interested in Remus’s response. His stomach clenched, his foot began tapping and his palms began to sweat, but that was easily ignored.

“With Severus?” Remus blinked some more. “Severus Snape? I don’t… think so. I mean, he’s still… but he’s not, is he. He’s grown up. We’ve all grown up. And he’s got that whole dark wizard thing working for him that I’ve only recently come to appreciate. In love?” He smiled slowly. “Not yet, Padfoot. Not yet.”

Harry tried to force another mouthful of egg down his throat, but it closed up on him. Rather than vomit his breakfast onto the table, he excused himself. “I’ve got to get to Hogwarts soon anyway,” he said before leaving the two men alone.

**

It was another Hogsmeade weekend, apparently, for the wizarding village was filled with students in house colors tramping through the wet and windy streets to Honeyduke’s or the Three Broomsticks or Zonko’s. Harry smiled and nodded at the students he recognized, but avoided any conversation. He was nervous enough without being late.

As he strode past the village walls, however, he almost walked straight into Ginny. “Harry!” she shrieked. “What a surprise!”

“Hello, Ginny,” he said. “Going into Hogsmeade, I see.”

“Come with me,” Ginny urged, taking him by the arm and turning him around. “Everyone’s meeting at the Broomsticks for lunch. It’s all people you know. All seventh-years.”

“Sorry, I can’t,” he demurred, removing his arm from hers. “I have an appointment. I’ll see you later, though. Give my best to your family.”

“Sure, Harry,” she said with a curious smile and a glance toward the path back to the castle. “I understand.”

He watched her walk into the village toward the popular pub before turning his feet toward the school once more. He met a few more students who had taken the opportunity of an unseasonably clear day to walk to the village, but none engaged him in any sort of conversation. Once inside the castle, he hurried directly to the stairs leading down to the dungeons, but another voice stopped him. Dumbledore.

“Harry,” the aging headmaster said. “A word with you, if I may…”

He fixed a smile on his face before turning around. “Yes, Professor Dumbledore? What can I do for you?”

Dumbledore stared through narrowed eyes at Harry for a long moment. “Perhaps not now,” he began. “I see you are on a schedule and I shan’t keep you any longer.”

Harry wanted to go, really he did, but the headmaster had stopped him for some reason and wasn’t it better to get it over with now? He felt his pleasant expression becoming forced. “What is it, sir? I do have an appointment, but if you need to speak to me…”

The old man smiled. “When you have some time, Harry, not before. It’s merely that I’ve noticed you spending quite a bit of time down in the potions classroom. The students have spoken of it, quite respectfully, I might add. I only wanted to discuss your future prospects. When you get a moment, of course.”

Future prospects? Was Dumbledore suggesting Harry teach? For a living? At Hogwarts? It wasn’t something he’d ever considered doing, but… what if? He looked up at the headmaster and nodded. “Certainly,” he said with a small frown. “I’ll come by as soon as I can.”

“Wonderful,” Dumbledore smiled. “Wonderful. And now I believe Professor Snape is waiting for you. Go on, then. And Harry?” he added softly. “Good luck.”

Did he know? Harry hadn’t told him. He knew Snape wouldn’t betray a confidence. Still, Dumbledore somehow always knew everything. He inwardly sighed. “Thank you, sir.”

He met no one else on the way to Snape’s quarters.

**

“You’re here. Good,” Snape said, opening his door wide enough for Harry to enter. “The potion is almost ready. Have you eaten yet today?”

Harry shook his head. “I tried some breakfast, but didn’t get very far.”

Snape gestured toward his desk. “There’s some soup and crackers for you. You should have some.”

“Thank you,” Harry said, moving toward the desk. He sat in Snape’s soft leather chair and pulled the soup bowl toward him. A warming charm had been cast on it; the steam fogged his glasses. The soup was chicken noodle and it was delicious.

As he ate, he watched Snape portion out two glasses of potion and then collect several vials and jars of prepared mixtures from his personal stores. He put them all down on a tray on the desk in front of Harry. 

“What’re all those for?”

Snape hesitated, then answered, “For the side-effects. I’m not sure if they’ll help, but they might.”

“It really can’t be that bad, can it?”

A raised eyebrow was Snape’s first reply. His second was delivered after he sat down in the chair across the desk. “Mr. Potter, you read the same recipe I did. What do you think?”

Harry smirked. “That the whole thing is exaggerated, of course. These were fairly primitive people we’re talking about. Sure, Medea made a damned effective curse, but that doesn’t mean the cure has to be as bad.”

Snape shook his head. “Your blind trust astonishes me.”

“So tell me why you think these side-effects couldn’t be exaggerated.”

“Because of the source,” Snape replied. “Naturally. You should always consider the source of any historical document. If a witch or wizard is known for truthful, honest, scientific treatises, then one can assume that anything produced by that witch or wizard will likewise be truthful, honest and accurate. If not, then not. The witch who developed the cure for this curse was known for her brilliance in the field. She was not known for exaggeration. All her previous remedies, observations and discoveries have borne out. So will this one.”

Shit. “Then the… the…” Harry gulped. “The cast... cast… castra…”

“’Castrations’?”

He nodded. “Those were… real? They… happened?”

Snape nodded, his expression blank. “As well as the disfigurement, the incontinence and the insanity. Only the first one was ever self-inflicted, of course.”

Harry sat back in the chair, staring at the small vials and jars lined up on the desk in front of him. “And this stuff will prevent all that?”

Snape shook his head. “Probably not. But they may help, since we’ll know what to expect. As conditions improve or worsen, you’ll be able to tell me what you’re experiencing and hopefully I’ll be able to provide a counter-agent.”

“Hopefully.”

“As I said.”

Harry pushed away the soup. “I think I’m ready now.”

Snape stood and gestured toward his bedroom. “Perhaps you’d like to freshen up before we begin? To prepare yourself for the process?”

He nodded. The bathroom was accessed through Snape’s bedroom. As he passed through the surprisingly cheerful green and silver room, he saw the older man’s tuxedo, freshly pressed, hanging off the back of a tall wardrobe. The reminder of Snape and Remus’s ‘perfect date’ stung.

When he exited the bathroom, he found Snape standing by his bed, arranging the vials and jars he’d selected earlier on a bedside table. “Ready?” he asked.

Harry nodded. “I suppose so.”

“You can still back out, you know,” Snape reminded him.

“After all this work? Not a chance.”

“Good,” Snape said with a firm nod. “You may as well get undressed now. It’ll be difficult later.”

“Huh? Undressed?”

“Is there a problem?”

Get that vulnerable in front of you? I don’t think so! He thought quickly. “If I’m undressed, won’t it be easier for me to-to hurt myself?”

Snape frowned in thought. “Perhaps. Although it would likely be more difficult for me to ease the side-effects if you were clothed.”

“Compromise, then,” he offered. He pulled off his t-shirt and kicked off his shoes. “Just boxers.”

Snape nodded. “Very well then.” He turned away from Harry for a moment, granting the younger man a semblance of privacy.

Harry stripped off his jeans and stood in the cool dungeon air in nothing but his flannel boxers and socks. “I’m ready, I guess. Let’s go.”

“This is the first half of the potion. Drink it quickly,” Snape said, handing him a small vial. “Precisely twelve minutes later, you shall drink the second half and then we shall see.”

“Bottoms up,” Harry said cheerfully. He drank the vial in a single gulp, having long since learned that the less time a potion spent on your tongue, the easier it was to swallow.

He shuddered anyway. When he was six years old, he and Dudley had both been sick with a cold. Dudley had been given a curiously green colored flu medicine. Harry had been left to suffer, but after hearing Dudley’s whinging about the horrid taste, he was rather glad of his aunt’s negligence. This potion reminded him of Dudley and the medicine. He shuddered again.

“Twelve minutes, right? You’re timing this?” Harry asked.

“Me? No,” Snape replied. “Aren’t you?”

“Huh?”

Snape smirked then. “I’m timing it. Don’t worry. I don’t want to have to do any of this ever again. I’ll be damned if this gets messed up now.”

Harry nodded. Nothing was happening, internally anyway. “When… when do you think…?”

“After you take the second potion,” Snape replied. “I believe the effects are gradual. They’ll sneak up on you slowly, but they will come.”

“Brilliant.”

When it was time, Snape handed Harry the second vial. This one had no taste, despite its rather extraordinary violet color. He leaned against the bedpost, folded his arms and waited. “Still nothing,” he said after several more minutes had passed. “Maybe there won’t be… any… oh, dear.”

“Problems?”

Harry nodded. “I think it’s… it’s… starting.”

Snape moved forward, brow furrowed in concern. “What’s starting? What are your symptoms? Does it hurt? Or…”

“It’s like a burning,” Harry explained. “It’s burning in my veins and it’s all rushing… downward.”

“Downward…?” Snape prompted.

“To my…” Harry gestured to his groin. “It’s all rushing and collecting there… oh, dear god.” He looked up at Snape, his expression bleak. “It’s getting worse.”

Snape straightened. “Try to describe the sensation as best as you can.”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said, a hint of desperation in his tone. “Why not? Um, well. It’s like hot candle wax is running through my veins. You know how wax burns hot for an instant on your skin but then it immediately cools? It’s like that. Hot and then… normal.”

If Snape wondered how Harry knew how hot candle wax felt on bare skin, he refrained from asking. “Go on,” he prompted softly.

“Well, it’s getting better, except for where it’s not.”

“Your genitals?”

Harry flushed red and nodded fiercely. “It’s… burning there. Getting hotter and –oh, god!” He suddenly hunched over, as if stricken with a severe stomach cramp. “Now it’s starting to itch!”

“Itch? Really?”

His hands clenched in fists, Harry clutched at his groin. “Yes, but I’m afraid to scratch. I don’t think it could be hard enough.”

Snape glanced at his table full of ointments, gels and salves. “Itching…” he murmured. “Burning and itching. Like Quid-Itch?”

Harry thought a moment. “Yeah, sort of. But worse.”

They were both still standing, facing each other, although Harry was bent over almost double. Snape mused softly, “I wonder if the same salve would work -?”

Another moment of indecision passed and Harry found himself crumpled on the floor. “No, S-S-Sev-Sever-usss,” he gasped. “It’s just gone beyond Quid-Itch.”

Snape immediately crouched beside Harry. “More burning and itching?” he asked.

“Like I’m being attacked by fire ants,” Harry panted. “Crawling over my balls and all of them biting me. Oh, god, Sev, please, please make it stop!”

“Shhh,” Severus said, one hand on Harry’s shaking shoulder. “Don’t use up all your energy fighting it now. I hate to say this, but it will only be getting worse.”

Tears leaked out of Harry’s eyes as he squeaked, “Worse!?” His hands were still jammed between his legs. “Worse? This is like if Voldemort had concentrated the Cruciatus Curse right-right there!”

Snape winced in sympathy.

“This is like if someone had slid razor blades over my precious bits and then dunked them in cinnamon oil. This is like if-“

“I get the picture!”

“Sorry,” Harry panted. “But it was helping, sort of, to describe it. Kind of removed me from it, you know?”

Snape nodded. “Do you want to keep talking about it?”

A strangled cry was his only reply. Harry had seized into a fetal position, his hands still jammed hard between his legs, tears now spilling out more freely over his cheekbones.

“You’ll be more comfortable on the bed,” Snape said, urging Harry upright. The younger man nodded and allowed himself to be helped to his feet. Snape gently pushed him backward onto the thick emerald spread, guiding his head to the pillow and lifting his legs into place. He brushed Harry’s fringe off his forehead. “Is this better?”

Harry didn’t reply. Instead, he twisted onto his side, stuck his hands between his legs and moaned piteously.

“Getting worse?”

Harry nodded.

Snape had an idea. “Take off your clothes.”

“No.”

**

Twenty minutes later, Snape was still trying to convince Harry of his plan. The trouble wasn’t that the plan was so difficult to explain or difficult to understand. The trouble was Harry had become more than slightly incoherent. Snape finally had to grab one of Harry’s hands, shove it in a jar of cooling ointment and then thrust that hand down the front of his boxers before the younger man got a clue.

“See?” he murmured softly as Harry’s breathing slowed, his hand rubbing slowly up and down. “This is a good idea. This is helping. Isn’t it?”

Harry nodded, his eyes still tightly closed. “I guess so.”

“You don’t have to tell me I’m right,” Snape said. “I already know I am.”

“Ha. Ha. Ha,” Harry replied.

“I see you’re regaining some of your old spirit. That’s a good sign.”

“How much longer do you suppose?”

Snape checked his mantel clock. “I’d estimate another four or so hours.”

“Well, this isn’t so bad,” Harry said. “I think I can stand this.”

“I almost hate to inform you that, once again, your lack of potions knowledge will come to bite you, well, not in the butt, but in another tender area of your anatomy,” Snape told him, almost without smugness. “Still, the cooling salve will wear off eventually and lose effectiveness, particularly considering that what’s causing the reaction in your system is still progressing. The reason you’re feeling the fiery sensation is because the antidote is actively fighting the curse, which is contained in your penis and scrotum. The reaction is still going on. The salve isn’t.”

“…oh…”

Snape nodded again. “And I’d suggest you apply it again, except that too much of anything applied to such a sensitive area will only cause you more problems further on. We don’t want that, do we?”

Harry shook his head. “No. I don’t suppose I do. It would kind of defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it.”

“It would.”

“So, until it wears off, what do we do?”

“I’m open for suggestions.”

Harry twisted slightly on the bed. “You can sit down, if you like.”

“Thank you.” Snape sank onto the bed.

“Ummm… tell me about your date last night,” Harry suggested. “It’ll keep my mind off the fact that this cooling salve is threatening to wear off.”

Snape thought a moment. “There really isn’t much to tell,” he began. “I picked him up. We went to the opera house. We watched the opera. We went to the restaurant. We had dinner. We went back to your house. I went home.”

Harry made a disgusted sound. “That can’t be all!”

“That is, essentially, what transpired.”

“Details, man! I want details!” At Snape’s blank look, Harry continued. “How was the conversation? Did my tips help you? Was the date everything you’d hoped it would be and more? What was it like to kiss him?”

“How did you know I kissed him?”

But Harry, realizing his mistake, jammed his fists back into his groin and moaned. “Just-just tell me about your date. Distract me with details, okay?”

“Fine, fine. But tell me when you’re ready to try something else.” He thought a moment. “I took your advice about the conversation. Once I started asking him questions, he began to open up. A lot. I found out a bit more about some man named ‘Lawrence’ than I’d ever cared to. I gather he and Remus had dated rather seriously some time ago. The opera was lovely. I’d seen it before, of course, but this was a delightful production.”

“Go… on,” Harry said, squirming in earnest now.

“I complimented him, as you suggested, and that seemed to go over well,” Snape continued. “I was polite to everyone, even when the waiter brought the wrong salads at dinner. It was rectified immediately, of course, but I did not even make my displeasure known by leaving a less than adequate tip.”

“That’s… nice… for him…”

“We spent a lot of time discussing Remus’s book. He wants to start interviewing the major participants in the war, you know. I’m not certain I’m ready to ‘come out’ about all the details.”

“Why… not?”

Snape shrugged. “I don’t really know. After hiding for so long as a spy, I’m not sure I trust the public with the entire truth. I’m also not sure I could get Remus to understand what I had to do, you see, and I’m afraid his dislike of my methods, despite his approval of my goals and accomplishments, would color his prose and therefore prohibit anyone else from viewing me in a favorable light. Not that I care what people think of me. Not really.”

“Right,” Harry panted. “Maybe you should write your own book.”

He looked mildly surprised. “Maybe I should. I hadn’t thought of that before.”

“Remus didn’t suggest it?”

“No. Should he have?”

Harry tried to shrug. “He’s been after Sirius to write a tell-all about Azkaban for years. And he wants me to write an autobiography, but I told him – argh…”

“What is it? Harry?” Snape was instantly on his feet. “Is it still burning? Itching? What?”

“It’s… worse than… worse than that… It feels… gangrenous.” Harry lifted the waistband of his boxers and peeked beneath. “Oh, fuck. It looks gangrenous!”

“Let me see.”

“No!”

“Harry…!”

“No! A thousand times no! It’s horrible!” He peeked at himself again. “Oh, god! It’s pulsing!”

“Harry, let me see!”

“It’s… there’s… there’s something in there! Get it out! Get it out!”

“Harry Potter!” Snape shouted in his most censorious manner. But Harry was still staring at himself under the lifted elastic waistband.

“…aaaaaaa…” Harry’s throat had closed up in anguish. A tiny, hoarse cry was all he could manage.

“For Merlin’s sake, Potter, get over your modesty already!” Without further discussion, Snape grabbed the waistband of Harry’s boxers and swiftly yanked them down the younger man’s legs. He tossed the flannels onto the floor and took his first good look at Harry’s genitals.

They were blackened. They were pulsing. And it did look as if something was in there. Of course, now that the boxers were removed and Harry had a better look, he shrieked even louder and grabbed his penis in both hands. “Get it out! I’ve got to get it out! Accio knife!”

“Harry, no!” Snape shouted. He heard a drawer in his study open, the clatter of metal against metal, and then the unmistakable sound of something slender hurtling through the air. Harry had succeeded in summoning one of Snape’s more decorative, but still deadly sharp, silver daggers. Instinctively, Snape turned and blocked the flying knife with one hand and a furiously whispered cancellation spell. The knife stuck into his palm.

Snape did not react to the sudden pain. Instead, he yanked the dagger out and threw it onto the floor, stepping firmly on it with one booted foot. “Harry, calm down!” He turned and wandlessly shut the door and threw up a quick ward to block any further summoned objects from his study. He returned his attention to Harry’s cursed penis.

It was grotesque. What should have been, what would have been under any other circumstances, a thing of beauty, pleasure and pride, was instead a monstrous parody of a male organ. The shaft pulsed, throbbed with metronymic precision. The veins stood out in sharp relief, black instead of blue. Bubbles and bulges of deep purple and green undulated beneath the skin. The scrotum itself shivered with activity, black slug-like lines swirling around and, presumably, through the sacs. The foreskin slithered on its own accord, alternately revealing and covering the tender skin beneath. All of that Snape gathered in a single glance. It was all the time he had before Harry gripped his penis in one tight hand and began to try tearing it off his body.

“Help me, Severus!” he gritted. “It’s stuck!”

Snape spared a single glance at Harry’s fevered face. He grabbed each of Harry’s wrists and pulled them up over the other man’s head, securing them there with a muttered spell. He did the same with Harry’s ankles, tethering them invisibly to the bed frame. “I think, Mr. Potter,” he said, “that it would be best to leave that alone for now.”

Harry screamed in protest.

**

“THIS IS NOT FUN!”

“Harry, this is not supposed to be fun.”

“I WANT TO QUIT! I WANT TO STOP!”

“Harry, you can’t. The process has begun and you have no choice but to follow through to the end.”

“IT ISN’T WORTH IT! NOTHING IS WORTH THIS!”

“Not even the prospect of reclaiming your manhood?”

“NO SEX IS WORTH THIS MUCH AGONY!”

“Clearly, Mr. Potter, you have not been doing it right.”

**

“I have another idea.”

“What is it?” Harry lay flat, his eyes closed, feeling as little pain as Snape’s topically applied salve allowed. It was a brief respite, but a welcome one. Although he hadn’t been nearly as coherent as he’d have liked when Snape actually applied the ointment, he managed to be grateful for the surcease of agony.

“I’ve been noticing something rather peculiar that wasn’t in the notes,” Snape said. “You’ve been leaking.”

“Leaking?” Harry lifted his head from the pillow and stared down at himself, still marveling at the sight of his fully erect penis. It had been months, so many long, tedious, unpleasant months since he’d last seen it in its properly tumescent state. Of course, his happiness died a painful death. He was erect, but his penis had turned almost completely black and he was, as Snape noted, leaking something equally black onto his stomach. He swore fiercely under his breath.

“I’m going to do a quick test, first,” Snape said. He took a slender strip of balsa wood from the supply of potions accessories he’d brought in earlier and scraped a bit of fluid off Harry’s stomach. “This’ll just take a moment,” he promised. He turned and Harry watched, squirming as best he could in his tethered position, as Snape dropped the strip of balsa into a clean jar. Then the potions master poured in several drops of the antidote. A moment later, the balsa wood went up in smoky flames. “As I thought,” he said softly. “The curse is trying to escape and the only way out is through your urethra. Perfect.”

“It doesn’t feel perfect,” Harry whimpered. Instead, it felt more and more imperfect every moment. Where he had felt burning and itching, he now felt scorched and ravaged from the inside out and even each droplet on his stomach was beginning to burn him. “What’s your plan?” he gasped. “How is this perfect?”

Snape cleared his throat. “If, as it seems is likely, the curse has been forced into your seminal vesicles where the only escape route is through your urethra, then the best course of action may very well be to help it escape.”

“H-How?”

“Isn’t it obvious? By ejaculating.”

“But –! I can’t. That’s the point,” Harry protested. His hips kept shifting, but it was not due to Snape’s intense study of his private parts. He’d long since given up any sense of modesty. The situation simply wouldn’t allow for it and the older man was treating the situation with all the seriousness and delicacy it deserved. When it was all over, he’d have to find some way to thank him for his professionalism and tact.

“I think you’ll be able to,” Snape said. “In some fashion or other. And as it gets easier to do, that will mean that the antidote has become more successful. It’s worth a try, at least.”

Harry gritted his teeth. If anything, it seemed the burning had increased. “Fine. Then release one of my hands. I’m not that particular which one right at the moment.”

“Nonsense. You’d just as likely try to rip it off again as masturbate yourself. I’ll do it.”

“No, you won’t!” he shrieked, his green eyes huge with humiliated protest. Applying salve was one thing; it was almost doctor-ish. Wanking him was something much more intensely personal.

“I’m not releasing your hands,” Snape replied. “Not until you’re cured. It’s either me or nothing. Choose.” 

A moment passed with Harry squirming on the bed and Snape staring expressionlessly beside the bed. “All right, fine,” he nodded his head finally. “Anything. Just do it.”

Snape nodded gravely. “I shall. Try to relax and… enjoy it.”

“Right.”

Harry shut his eyes tight and Snape reached out his left hand to Harry’s stiff member. He preferred to use his right whenever possible, but sitting to Harry’s left, the angle would probably prove awkward. His hand hovering over Harry, Snape said, “I could blindfold you, if you like. That way you could pretend I was someone else. I’d offer some aphrodisiac, but it would likely interfere with the process.”

“Just… do it, I said!”

Snape did. He wrapped his long fingers around Harry’s stiff penis and began to stroke, slowly at first before gaining speed. There was no reason to prolong the activity. Harry needed it finished more than he needed to enjoy it. As his hand moved toward the tip, more and more of the black fluid spilled onto Harry’s stomach. Snape picked up a soft cloth with his right hand and wiped the younger man’s skin clean. He then retrieved a second cloth and spread it out to catch any more of the thick, black fluid.

Faster and faster he stroked Harry, fascinated at the way each upward stroke forced more of the cursed fluid out. He did not notice that Harry’s eyes had opened and were fixed on the same curious drama. After several more strokes, Harry’s head fell back and his hips began to lift upward with each of Snape’s downward caresses, and that much Snape did notice.

Must be starting to feel good, he thought to himself.

Harry moaned, his hips still lifting, the fluid still spilling, Snape still stroking, until finally a larger gush of fluid and Harry’s hips fell back to the mattress.

“There, there,” Snape said soothingly, patting Harry’s swollen member gently. “I’ll need a new cloth. We should probably do that again.”

Harry nodded wearily. “All right.”

Snape stood and hurried into the bathroom to rinse off his hands. He was more than a bit disturbed to find small shreds of blackened skin on his palm. Was it a reaction to the curse? No, he decided as he carefully rinsed his hand. It wasn’t his skin at all. It was Harry’s. The poor boy’s penis was… shedding.

**

Snape succeeded twice more before Harry began to feel some measure of relief. Almost two hours had passed since the torturous testicular trial had begun and he was still not to the halfway point yet. Drenched in sweat, muscles sore from fighting the invisible restraints, throat screamed almost completely raw, Harry wanted desperately to sleep. The throbbing pain in his prick prevented him.

He heard Snape in the bathroom rinsing out another flannel. Harry wondered idly if the cursed fluid stained. Exhausted, it was all he could do to blink as Snape returned with fresh cloths. “Talk to me again,” Harry said. “Tell me more about your date. About Remus. Why him? Why choose him, after all these years? What is it about him that drives you wild?”

Snape sat on the low stool he’d transfigured from a trash can and carefully arranged the cloth beneath Harry’s slowly dripping penis. “You don’t want me to try again?” he asked.

“Not right now. I’m so tired,” Harry said. “And sore. Just… just talk to me.”

“I’ve already told you how I feel about Remus,” Snape said. “There’s nothing more to say about it.”

“Oh, come on, Severus! He’s the love of your life, isn’t he? There’s got to be plenty more to say about it.”

Snape frowned slightly. “I’m not sure I’d put it that way, exactly,” he said softly.

Harry wasn’t sure he’d heard him correctly. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not sure there is a ‘love of my life,’” he repeated. “Nor even a love of anyone’s life. There’s just people you meet and are compatible with, with whom you make a life. It’s at the end of your days that you can look back and say for sure ‘he was the love of my life.’ It’s not at the beginning of them.”

For a moment, Harry forgot the pulsing pain and the fact that he was tied naked to Snape’s bed. He just stared up at his former professor in sad surprise. “That’s rather cynical, don’t you think?”

“And I suppose that you, like a good Gryffindor, believe in ‘true love’ and all that?”

“Wasn’t that was this date with Remus was all about?”

Snape hesitated before answering. “I’m unable to say.”

“Unable or unwilling?”

He shot him a sour look. “Unable,” he replied firmly. “I know I cared for him in school. I cared deeply for him. He was… everything. And I know that I held him up as an example of everything that I could have had in my life. But I also knew I was unworthy of his friendship, his companionship. When Sirius played that prank on me, and then when it was excused by the headmaster, I realized that I was unworthy of simple human compassion and consideration.”

“It wasn’t excused,” Harry said, beginning to pant with stress. “He had to have taken points off at least.”

“Sure, he did,” Snape agreed. “He took off fifty points from Sirius.”

“See? That was-“

“And then he gave your father fifty points for rescuing me.”

“Oh.”

“And then took twenty points from Slytherin for my being out of bounds.”

“…oh… I think I see your point.”

“Indeed. Sirius Black tries to get me killed and I lost house points. It wasn’t fair.”

“I’m not sure I know what Dumbledore should have done, though.”

“Expel him?”

“Not…” he gasped. “… very likely… there’d be an inquiry… Remus…” Harry began to writhe once more on the bed. His penis had begun pulsing once more. More black fluid spilled onto his cloth-covered stomach. Snape took a breath and began to masturbate Harry one more time.

**

“How… long… now?” Harry asked.

“Another hour or less,” Snape told him. “Judging by the color changes.”

Harry glanced down at himself. He was still erect, but the boils had devolved into blisters and the blackness had faded. “I look better,” he said. “Finally.” He rested his head on the pillow. “I can’t believe this is almost over.”

Snape straightened his back, wincing at several snaps and pops as his spinal column readjusted itself. “Not a moment too soon,” he said with a smirk. “I never would have thought that wanking someone else could ever get boring.” 

“Ha. Ha.”

“Just making an observation.”

“Let me make one, then.”

“Go ahead.”

Harry casually glanced at Snape and then let his gaze drift away. “I don’t think you really understand Remus, much less love him.”

“Oh? And on what do you base that conclusion?”

He tried to shrug, but with his arms virtually frozen in place above his head, it was nigh impossible. “Just that you only talk about him in terms of how things were in school. You don’t know anything about him now.”

“Perhaps it has escaped your notice, but that is the purpose of dating.”

“And perhaps it has escaped your notice, but Remus does a lot of dating. What he hasn’t been doing is a lot of settling down.”

“Perhaps he’s simply looking for the right man.”

“And perhaps you’re simply blind,” Harry retorted, getting awfully tired of the verbal sparring. “Remus may turn into a wolf three nights a month, but the rest of the time, he’s a dog.”

Snape had no reply.

**

“Oh… that feels good…”

“Does it?”

“Incredible… don’t stop.”

“If you insist.”

“I do! Oh, gods, Severus, I do…”

“There. How’s that, then?”

“Better! How can it keep getting better? There – that’s the spot. No. Lower… lower… aaaahhhh….”

“That’s it. Just relax. Let it all out.”

Harry lay flat on his front, his face turned into a soft pillow, his arms by his sides and his legs splayed carelessly. Snape bent over him, his strong fingers pushing and pulling at his shoulders, his breath coming hot and fast onto his skin. It was heaven.

Only a minor itching and burning sensation remained, but it was fading fast. The color of his penis had returned to its normal pinkish ivory and the last bit of ejaculate had been a pearly white. Harry had been cured.

Upon that realization, Snape had immediately released Harry’s bonds. The young wizard promptly sat up to rub his ankles and yelped in pain. His muscles had begun seizing up. Snape offered a massage; Harry accepted and he realized he was well and truly was cured. Feeling Snape’s hands rubbing into the skin of his buttocks had convinced him more than the lack of bubbling black boils.

After all, Snape’s hands on Harry’s body had given the young man his first naturally occurring erection in over six months.

“Hey, stop, stop,” he panted. When he felt Snape’s hands leave his body, Harry rolled over. “Look!” He gestured at his groin. “I’ve got a stiffie! Isn’t that wonderful! I’m cured! I’m cured!”

Snape wasn’t sure whether he should laugh his congratulations or sniff with affronted dignity and make a sarcastic comment. When Harry sat up again and threw himself naked into Snape’s arms, he realized what his only possible reaction could be. He hugged him back.

The enthusiastic young man felt like an Adonis in his arms, all smooth unblemished skin and hard, unyielding muscles. Though he was nude, his body put off a great deal of heat and Snape felt the sudden need to undress himself and cool off. Harry smelled of stale sweat, semen and joy. He scrambled onto his knees facing Snape.

They were almost nose to nose. Harry smiled into Snape’s eyes. “Thank you, Severus. I could never have gotten through all this on my own.” His hands were on Snape’s shoulders, but one moved to the back of his neck, pulling him close. His flushed mouth a scant inch from Snape’s, Harry added another, softer thank-you. Then he pressed his lips to the older man’s for a long moment.

Harry broke the kiss and smiled again into Snape’s eyes. “I mean it,” he said. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he managed to reply.

Harry smiled again, more sheepishly this time. “I think I’d better get dressed.”

“Feel free to use my shower, if you like,” Snape offered, taking a step away from the bed.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Harry replied easily. He stood slowly, taking the time to find his balance. Snape began gathering the salves and cloths he’d been using. When Harry had his clothes in hand, he stood by the bathroom door. “I thought I might take you out to dinner tonight, Severus,” he suggested. “What do you say? As a token of my appreciation?”

Snape didn’t turn around. “I’m sorry, Harry. I have plans with Remus tonight.”

“You… do?”

“He owled me this morning before you got here. There’s a party of some kind in London,” Snape explained. “He thinks it’ll be fun.”

“Oh.” Harry stood still a moment, watching Snape who never turned around. “Some other time then.”

Snape nodded. “Assuredly. Another time.”

Harry closed the bathroom door.

**

He ended up dining with Dumbledore that night in the headmaster’s private dining room. The two wizards spent several hours catching each other up on mutual friends and recent events. The headmaster had been shocked and amused to learn of Harry’s curse.

“But that requires a female caster,” he said. “Who would have cursed you so?”

Harry shrugged. “I still don’t know. Couldn’t be someone here at school. The only witch I know with the power and the intelligence to discover the curse, much less cast it successfully, is Hermione and I know she’d never do that.”

“No, not her,” Dumbledore agreed. He thought for several minutes before murmuring, “I wonder if Voldemort had something to do with it?”

“Come on, professor! Voldemort was many things, but he was not a she.”

“I don’t mean that, my boy,” Dumbledore said easily. “Not exactly. He had the power, yes, and the intelligence as well as the malice. I wonder if it was Nagini who provided the conduit for the spell.”

“Of course!” Harry felt silly for not realizing it before. Voldemort and his snake were unnaturally close. It would have been no great difficulty for the familiar to provide the female energy the Dark Lord required to cast the Medean Curse. He sighed. “Too bad she’s already dead. I could’ve had my revenge.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled merrily. “But that was Crookshanks’ contribution. Never forget what you owe Hermione’s cat.”

“I won’t, I swear,” Harry said. “As if that bloody cat would let me. Do you know he still haunts Hermione’s school trunk?”

The old man smiled. “I thought he might. Such a delightful feline.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. And, my dear boy, I have some more to say to you, as well…”

Harry listened intently as Dumbledore made his proposition.

**

It wasn’t as difficult a decision to make as Harry had expected. The DADA teacher, who had miraculously lasted a full two years, was getting married. Her husband, however, was American, with a position in the Muggle government there. As repeated transoceanic Apparation was never recommended even for the strongest wizard or witch, someone would have to replace her. Dumbledore suggested Harry take an intensive teacher training course at Oxford’s Rhiannon College of Magic and take over the class at the start of the next fall term.

So the need was there. The desire to teach was only slightly more difficult to awaken in the still-idealistic young man. What was most difficult was convincing him he could actually make a go of it (‘I find Gryffindors make excellent DADA instructors,’ Dumbledore reassured him).

The only drawback Harry could see was that he would have to put aside his lustful dreams of multiple partners of differing genders. Hogwarts was not exactly a singles bar. But when Dumbledore pointed out that, had Harry actually spent the past six months shagging everything of legal age on two legs, he’d still have nothing to show for it but a lot of meaningless memories, Harry caved. He hadn’t really wanted to look back on a long list of nameless faces or, more likely, body parts, when he got older. He just wanted some fresh experiences and some wild experimentation. (‘As you get older, you’ll realize it is possible to find all that with a single person,’ Dumbledore told him, ‘the right person.’)

Well, he would be working side by side with Severus. Who was having a wonderful time at a party with Remus Lupin. Bloody hell.

**

A month passed, and the year turned new, before Harry actually saw Snape again. 

He’d been having a drink with Sirius at the local pub to celebrate his godfather’s success at securing a business loan to open a motorbike repair shop. Proceeds from the repairs would hopefully cover living expenses for the older wizard while Harry attended school and then taught at Hogwarts. Not that Harry couldn’t have continued to provide for Sirius as well as Remus and still taken college classes and then teach at the boarding school, what with the interest from his parents’ Gringott’s account and the money the Ministry of Magic had paid him upon his defeat of Voldemort. Rather, it was that Sirius had finally grown tired of being a man of leisure ‘kept’ by his godson. It was a bid for independence and adulthood, long overdue for a man who’d spent his twenties in prison.

After their celebratory pints, the two men walked back to Harry’s house, laughing and joking with each other. Harry made a fuss over Sirius ‘finally growing up’ which Sirius accepted with good humor. They were more than slightly surprised to open their front door and see Severus and Remus in the parlor, deep in conversation, and they sobered up immediately.

“You’re still here?” Sirius said by way of greeting. “We thought you had an early movie…?”

Harry just looked from Severus to Remus and back again. The two men were sitting on the sofa, slightly facing each other and only inches apart. They were dressed as Muggles, in jeans and dress shirts, but it was their expressions that interested Harry most.

Remus looked bewildered, confused, and a little bit affronted. Severus had a rather peculiar cast to his features, almost as if the man himself was uncertain which emotion to display to the world, or even which emotion he actually felt.

“Is something wrong?” Harry asked, directing his question to Severus.

“We do,” Remus said, answering Sirius’s question. “Or, we did. We can catch a later show. Or not. We were just, um, talking.”

“I’ll bet,” Sirius snickered. “S’matter? We come back too early?”

“Nothing like that…” Remus’s voice drifted off.

Harry tried again. “Severus? Are you all right?” 

The older man looked up, his eyes wide. “What, Harry? I’m fine.” He glanced at Remus. “Ready to go?”

Remus nodded. “Sure. Let’s get out of here.”

They stood and Harry and Sirius moved aside to let them pass. “Have a good time,” Harry called out softly. He caught Severus’s eyes as the man held the front door for Remus. There was something about his gaze that seemed to hold a message for him, but it was gone before he could figure it out.

“Well!” Sirius clapped his hands together. “Let’s pop some corn and see if there’s anything on the telly tonight. Sound like a plan?”

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said, but he probably would have agreed to anything at the moment. His mind was still trying to decipher Severus Snape’s look.

**

“I think there’s something going on with Remus and Severus,” Harry said during a commercial.

“Of course, there is,” Sirius grunted. “They’re shagging.”

Harry refused to react noticeably. He couldn’t help the sudden lurch in his gut, though. “They are? Really?”

Sirius shrugged. “I imagine so. Remus doesn’t always come home after their dates, you know. He must sleep somewhere.”

“I didn’t know.” He had done his best not to know anything about their times together. It wasn’t easy. With Remus all too eager to share all the details of his love life with his housemates, avoiding the rapturous recitations of party after movie after club-hop after pub-crawl meant being rude. Harry hated to be rude. It just wasn’t in his nature. Consequently, he knew a great deal more about where Severus spent his nights, at which club or bar or dance hall or concert, than he thought best in the situation. “So… Remus is in love with him, you think?”

“Haven’t the foggiest clue,” Sirius said, reaching into the cauldron of popcorn for another handful. The two men sat on either end of the sofa, their feet propped up on the coffee table, drinks in hand, watching the television. “This is the best part,” he said, pointing to the screen.

“Yippie-ki-yay, mother fucker,” he and Harry said in unison with a digitized Bruce Willis.

They watched the movie in silence for several more minutes before Harry said suddenly, “Now I know who that guy reminds me of!”

“Huh? What guy? Who?”

“The villain, what’s-his-name, Hans Gruber,” he explained. “Give him dark hair and he looks like Severus. Or dye Severus’s hair blonde and he looks like that guy.”

“You think?”

“Watch the next time he comes on the screen.”

Sirius watched, frowned in concentration for a moment, then shook his head. “I don’t know. I have a hard time seeing Snape as some Eurotrash Uber-villain.”

“Really? You do?”

“Don’t say I said that, but yeah,” Sirius admitted. “He’s not so bad once you get to know him.”

“I’ll say,” Harry agreed quietly.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. He’s…”

“Go on.”

“He’s a lot more interesting when you don’t have to take his class,” Harry said finally.

“’Interesting.’”

Harry nodded. “When you get him out of that classroom, he’s almost a totally different person. He’s funny and shy and confident and intelligent and attractive…” He broke off, fervently hoping Sirius didn’t hear the last adjective.

They were silent, watching the movie. Then Sirius said around a mouthful of popcorn, “You like him a lot, don’t you.”

He didn’t see a reason to lie. “Yeah, I guess I do. Is that okay?”

“Of course, it is. You can like whoever you want to.”

“Somehow I didn’t think you’d –“

“Loving him’s a different story, though.”

His mouth hanging open, all Harry could do was stutter, “Wha-a-at?”

Sirius shifted on the sofa to better look at his godson. “You heard me. Loving the man’s a different story than just liking him.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “I can’t love whomever I want to?”

“I didn’t say that, so don’t put words in my mouth,” Sirius replied. “And of course you can love whoever your heart tells you to love. I don’t think you can control that. What I’m saying is, loving is harder than liking. It’s more complicated. Especially when the bloke you’re in love with is dating your godfather’s best friend.”

“You… you think I’m in love with him? With Severus, I mean?”

Sirius fixed Harry with a level, comforting and penetrating gaze. “I don’t know. Are you?”

Another long pause and then Harry said irritably, “Just watch the movie.”

He nodded, turned back to the television, munched on another handful of popcorn and said, “You will let him know when you decide, won’t you?”

Harry let the admonition pass. He didn’t know what he was going to do.

**

The thrum of music penetrated even to the street. Severus gathered his resolve and followed Remus up to the door. They’d come to this club at Remus’s insistence several times in the past month; the doorman was a friend. There was a line of club-goers waiting, but the two wizards were waved on through.

A half hour of slow-humping to the house music later, Remus leaned up to shout into Severus’s ear, “You’re not having fun. Let’s get out of here.”

He wanted to protest, but he wanted to leave more, so he followed Remus out the side exit into the alley. “Where to now?”

Remus shook his head, stopped and faced Severus. “You’re not having any fun at all, are you.” It was not a question.

“What do you mean? Fun with what? Here?” He glanced back at the wall of the club. “I don’t mind this place.”

“Yeah, sure you don’t,” Remus scoffed. “That’s why you… never mind.”

“Why I what?”

Remus folded his arms and stared at his feet. “Have you changed your mind or something? About me, I mean?” He glanced up at Severus, then looked away again. “You used to be… more interested, I guess.”

“In dancing?” he hazarded.

“No, not in dancing, although you do that rather surprisingly well.”

“It’s just sex standing up,” Severus muttered.

“I notice we’ve never had sex lying down,” Remus replied in the same tone.

He braced himself. “Is that what this is about? This and earlier back at the house?”

Remus shrugged. “Maybe. Probably. Why haven’t we?”

“For gods’ sake, there hasn’t been an opportunity! We’re always going hither and yon, to this party and that. When have we had time alone?”

Frowning, Remus replied, “Plenty of times. Like when I crash at your place. But that’s not what’s stopping you. You just don’t want to.”

“Oh, no,” Severus stated flatly. “I want to.”

He grinned wryly. “Sure you do. But not with me.”

“I don’t? Are you so sure?”

Remus nodded. “Positive,” he said. “If you wanted me, I’d be able to sense it on you. You used to be attracted to me. Hell, it was overpowering sometimes. I can admit that, I guess. But you’re different now and it’s not me you want.”

“But you’re perfect for me,” Severus insisted. “We’re the same age, interested in the same things. We have the same background and we-“

But Remus was shaking his head. “All that’s just pathetically coincidental. And it’s nothing to base a relationship on. It’s barely enough reason to shag. And we’re not, in any case.”

“Not what?”

“Interested in the same things.”

“We’re not?”

“Nope.”

“Of course, we are.”

“No, Severus, we’re really not.” Remus sighed. “I’ve only just recently started to live a little. See, after I was bitten, my parents sold all their possessions and spent all their money on ‘miracle cures’ and quack doctors. We were more than broke, we were charity cases. I felt so guilty about them losing their farm and my da having to go to work in a factory that I hated getting taller, hated going to school, hated birthdays. All it meant to me was that they had to spend even more money on me for clothes and books and presents.”

“Remus, I know you were poor, but what-“

“Let me talk, okay?”

“Fine. Go ahead.”

They started moving up the alley toward the street where they joined the throngs of passersby. Moving through the village, the men found space on a low wall beside a small stream, sat down and continued their talk.

“So I hated requiring anyone to spend a knut on me, for any reason. I hated drawing attention to myself, not only for my lycanthropy but because I felt responsible for my parents’ financial situation. Then I met James and Sirius and Peter and they helped me to realize I deserved to have fun.”

He paused, collecting his thoughts. Severus tried to figure out where Remus was going with this trip down memory lane. Ostensibly, the point was to show how Remus and Severus really didn’t have that much in common, but he failed to see it proven yet. His own childhood hadn’t been much more comfortable than Remus’s.

“But after graduation, and Peter’s betrayal, I was back to feeling guilty. I became ultra-responsible, as much as I could,” Remus went on. “There wasn’t much I could do as a wizard, considering my condition, and my parents fell ill and died leaving unpaid bills and…” He shook his head. “My point is, I’ve only recently gotten back that feeling that I deserve to live. To have a life. To go out and dance until dawn, to drink until dizzy and to shag until senseless. I don’t want anything more than that right now and maybe not ever. That’s where we’re different.”

“Remus, I…” Severus shook his head, falling silent. He looked away, back toward the club and the line of young people at the door. Young mostly Muggles with their entire lives ahead of them. Their entire carefree, blameless, guiltless lives ahead of them. No great evil to vanquish, no lost time to recapture, no second chances to take.

“Go on, Severus.”

“Look at those kids.” He pointed at the line of suggestively clad young people. “I was never like that. I never had the time. Honestly, I never had the inclination when I was their age, but I was never like that. In school I was constantly aware that I had to make good use of my time because my parents could ill afford even the reduced school fees available for poorer families –“

Remus nodded. “My education was free,” he said softly.

“Right, well, we had to pay. And I was always made aware of the duty I owed the family to get their money’s worth.” He actually felt somewhat proud of himself; he didn’t hear a trace of bitterness in his voice. “Voldemort offered me a way to repay my family and to help my younger sisters with their school expenses. It was a dream come true. Then it became a nightmare.” He laughed harshly. “You know what else? My parents found out I was a Death Eater and they refused to take a sickle from me. My father went on the Muggle dole rather than let me pay for my sisters to have decent winter robes.”

“That must have been tough,” Remus said.

“It was,” he agreed. “But I never felt having fun was a bad thing. Quite the opposite. It was a relief not to have to worry about the family.”

“Another difference.”

“Not much of one. I still don’t see your point.”

“It’s like this,” Remus tried again. “We may be the same age. We may both be survivors of a horrible war. But we’re dealing with that survival in a different way. I want to have fun. I want to have a good time with whatever bloke happens by. You want…”

“… yes? What do I want?”

Remus looked seriously into Severus’s eyes. “You, my friend, are looking for something quite different. You don’t want meaningless, anonymous sex, noisy nightclubs or smoky bars. You want something quieter. Something sweeter. You want long walks in the moonlight, soft conversation in front of a fireplace and someone to hold you close when you have nightmares. That’s where we’re different.”

“And you can honestly say you don’t want any of that?”

“I can, because it’s true.” Remus smiled tenderly. “I’m not ready for that level of commitment. I mean sure, yeah, some day it might be nice to settle down, but for now? I just want to…” He gestured aimlessly.

“But not with me.”

“Oh, no, Severus,” Remus’s eyes glinted. “I’d very much enjoy a little meaningless sex with you. But it wouldn’t be more than that and that wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“And I can’t convince you…”

“Trust me. You don’t want to convince me.”

“I don’t?”

“Nope. I suspect there’s someone else out there right now who’s pining over you,” Remus said with a peculiar grin. “Someone who wants the same things you want. The quiet talks, the cuddling, the security, the long term.”

Severus shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ll probably never find him. What are the odds? It’s not like I date.”

“You’ve been dating me,” he pointed out.

“Sure I have,” Severus replied. “Because Harry needed a potion and that led me to you.”

Remus didn’t immediately reply. He had a strange expression on his face that looked like he wanted to say something, to say something desperately, but he didn’t. He shifted his weight, then leaned toward Severus, laying a hand on his arm. “Severus, love,” he began, “there’s someone else it should have led you to.” Severus stared, astonished, as Remus squeezed his arm, stood up and sauntered back toward the club. “I’ll find my own way home,” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t wait up.”

It was all Severus could do to remain upright. Weakly, he called out, “Who?” But there was no one to answer him.

**

They were halfway through a Monty Python rerun when they heard a sharp knock on the front door. “I’ll get it,” Sirius offered, heaving himself up off the sofa. Harry considered the last several unpopped kernels in the cauldron, undistracted by Sirius’s startled, “What are you doing here?” at the door. His “what’s wrong? Where’s Remus?” caught his attention, though. He glanced up, slightly alarmed.

“He decided to stay out longer,” came the reply. “I’d like… May I come in?”

“Sure, why not,” Sirius said, opening the door further. “Come on in. Harry? Severus is here.”

Harry gulped. He was not prepared for visitors, especially not this one! He glanced at his baggy, torn sweat pants, his stained t-shirt and his bare feet and wondered if he could conjure something more suitable in the three seconds it would take Severus to notice his slovenly apparel.

Too late. Severus had come in and was standing in the entrance to the parlor. “Good evening, Harry,” he said.

Harry smiled gamely. “Hello, Severus. You’re back early. What’s up?”

Sirius hesitantly looked from one to the other, then shook his head. He moved to the sofa, picked up the cauldron and said, “I’m going to start cleaning up some of this mess. I’ll be in the kitchen. Severus? Can I get you something to drink or anything?”

“No, thank you, I’m fine.”

Sirius nodded once and left through the connecting door.

“Have a seat?” Harry offered.

“Thank you.” Severus sat down in Sirius’s place on the sofa. He looked at the television. “What are you watching?”

“Oh, um, Monty Python’s Flying Circus. I’ll shut it off.” He reached for the remote and in seconds, the room was quiet enough they could hear Sirius in the kitchen, singing loudly off-key.

Severus frowned. “What is he doing in there? Some kind of ridiculous howling-cleaning charm?”

Harry smirked, a little self-conscious. “No, he’s uh… giving us some privacy, actually.”

“Ah.”

“Was there something you wanted? To talk about, I mean? With me? Or I could get Sirius-“

“No,” Severus replied hastily. “I mean, yes. With you. Maybe.” They lapsed into awkward silence.

Harry broke the silence with, “We never had that dinner, you know.”

He looked up, questioning, “Dinner?”

“Uh-huh. The one I offered when you cured me. You said ‘another time’ but we’ve never gone.”

“Oh. Of course.”

“Unless you really don’t want to,” Harry said quickly. “And you probably don’t want to. I mean… you’re with Remus and it wouldn’t ‘do’ for you to have dinner with another man, would it.”

Severus stared at his hands which were restlessly twisting together on his knees. He forced them to be still. “I wouldn’t say that I’m ‘with’ anyone. Not anymore.”

“Oh?” What did that mean? And why was he here when Remus wasn’t? Harry’d be damned before he’d assume anything about this rather surreal situation.

“No. We’re too different,” he said softly. “You tried to tell me that before, but I wasn’t listening. I had to listen tonight, though, because Remus is awfully hard to ignore when he’s walking away and leaving you alone.”

“Huh?” Great, Harry, just great. Speaking in one syllable slang was really going to impress the man. Not!

“We… sort of broke up.”

“Oh.” Harry cast about for something more to say and settled on, “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Severus looked up at that and their eyes met. With a strange, unreadable expression in his eyes, he asked, “You are?”

He found he couldn’t look away. “It was what you wanted your whole life, wasn’t it? A chance with Remus? And now it’s over, so… yeah. I’m sorry to hear that. You must feel… awful.”

“Oddly enough, I don’t,” he replied. “And that surprises me. I thought I wanted him my whole life, but maybe it was the idea of him. Maybe I never got over my schoolboy crush, as you suggested. Maybe I never allowed my dreams to change as my life did.”

Harry nodded. They still hadn’t broken their eye contact. “Maybe you should.”

Severus nodded. “I think perhaps you’re right. I should.”

They sat silently for several long moments, their eyes communicating far more than their words had. Harry became highly aware of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the thrum of blood in his ears, the slide of spectacles down his nose. He pushed them up with one hand and the strange, pregnant mood broke. He smiled crookedly and shifted in his seat. “So, ahh… what now?” he asked.

Severus shook his head as if clearing fog from his brain. “I should probably be going,” he said, standing up. “I don’t know why I came here-“

Harry stood, too, facing him. “You can stay.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You can stay. Here. Tonight. If you want.” Me, Harry silently added. If you want me, you can stay here tonight, in my bed if you like and I know I would like it a lot.

“I’m not sure –“

“Please.” And where did that come from? Some hidden reservoir of Gryffindor courage? Well, brace yourself for the Slytherin set-down, Wonder Boy. He’s going to turn you down. You know he is. He’s opening his mouth, he’s forming the words, he’s –

Wryly, self-deprecatingly, he replied, “If you insist.”

-not turning you down. “Bloody hell!” he breathed.

Startled, flushing slightly, Severus asked, “What?”

“I can’t believe you accepted!”

“Didn’t you… want me to?” he asked carefully. “Isn’t that why you invited me?”

“Of course! But I never thought you’d accept, I mean…” He had no words. No words at all.

“Well, I did. I am. What now?”

Harry thought quickly. “Let’s go upstairs.”

“So soon?”

“Something wrong with due diligence?”

He laughed quietly. “No, but then there’s nothing wrong with taking one’s time, either. Getting it right. Going slow. That’s in the Slytherin Sex God Manual, after all.”

Harry grinned broadly. “There is one! I knew there had to be. What do they talk about in it?”

Severus’s smile was predatory and sly. He stepped closer, his distinct height advantage giving him a dominating physical presence, forcing Harry to tilt his head backward and expose his smooth neck. Severus looked down into Harry’s eyes and said softly, “How about I show you?”

Harry was about to reply in the affirmative when Severus showed him that and more.

The kiss startled them both not because it was immediately pleasurable and not because they immediately moved in sync with each other, but because it immediately felt right, like coming home after years away. Harry parted his lips in invitation and Severus’s tongue slipped obediently between them, gently stroking the tender flesh inside his buttery mouth. “Mmm… popcorn,” he murmured. “Salty…”

The thought of other salty things caused Harry to shiver. He pressed himself up against Severus’s body and wrapped his arms around the older man’s shoulders, pulling him even closer. A muttered groan – they were uncertain whose it was – followed and Severus’s arms snaked around Harry’s waist, his long fingers gently stroking the small of his back under his loose t-shirt.

Harry wriggled closer. He felt a decided bulge in Severus’s jeans and aimed his own happily burgeoning erection at it. Severus gasped decidedly then and pulled back from Harry’s mouth to ask, “Can I assume you haven’t…”

“Test driven it yet?” Harry asked with a quirky grin. “Nope. Not yet.”

“But surely you have… made sure…?”

“Oh, yes,” he acknowledged with a sigh. “Very much so. Every night, in fact. I have an active imagination.”

Severus leaned back down to kiss along Harry’s jaw. He reached the younger man’s ear and whispered, “And what do you imagine when you’re alone and you’re stroking yourself, hm?”

Harry shuddered at the feel of the warm breath on his sensitive earlobe and the intimacy of the question itself. “You,” he admitted. “Always you.”

“I see,” Severus whispered hoarsely again. His open mouth moved slowly down Harry’s throat. One hand reached up to pull at the aged t-shirt, tugging the loose collar to expose more of the young man’s skin. “And what am I doing in that wickedly active imagination of yours? Tell me. Tell me everything…”

Harry’s eyes closed as Severus’s mouth fixed on a surprisingly tender spot just at the base of his neck. “Ummm… it varies. Sometimes… sometimes we’re in class,” he said, his voice shaky and rough. “And you need my help in the storage room. So we go in there and you… and you…”

“Yes? What do I do?” His mouth moved to another spot, this one just below his ear, underneath his jaw.

“You… you… come up behind me and say you’ve been watching me,” Harry moaned. “And that you need me and w-want me, right there and then and nothing’s going to stop you from getting what you want. So you wrap your arms around me –“

“Yes, yes, go on.” Severus moved to the other side of Harry’s neck. His hands had firm grips on Harry’s backside, allowing the younger man to bend even farther backward.

“And you – oh, right there’s a good spot, do that again – and you slide your hands inside my robes and push down my trousers –“

“They come off that easily, do they?” He rested his hands on Harry’s hips, his thumbs pushing past the waist of his sweat pants.

“They do for you,” Harry panted. He pushed his hips closer to Severus’s, feeling the delicious heat from the other man. With a stuttering breath, he continued, “And my trousers are down and you push me over a barrel and rub your hands over my arse, pulling me open and you slide in and –“

Severus pulled back and looked at Harry in mild astonishment. “Just like that? No prep or anything?”

“It’s a fantasy, Severus! It doesn’t have to be realistic.” Harry frowned. He’d been enjoying his storytelling.

“Sorry, it’s just… Go on.” He kissed Harry’s forehead and nudged him with the tip of his nose.

“There’s not much more to it than that,” he admitted flatly. “Basically you shag me, we put our pants back on and go back to class with no one the wiser.”

Severus smiled softly. “I ruined your story. I’m sorry. You can tell me another one, if you like.”

Harry shook his head and said petulantly, “No, no. It’d probably be unrealistic and boring.” He looked up at Severus with a devilish twinkle in his eyes. “It’s your turn. Woo me.”

Severus leaned down to whisper in his ear. “Harry,” he said, “take me to bed.”

**

I should probably say something to Sirius, Harry told himself, his thoughts bouncing in his brain like a spinning pinball as they climbed the stairs. Or maybe not, he added as the feeling of Severus's fingers on his backside drove everything reasonable out of his head. Severus followed him up the stairs and to the right down the hall to Harry’s bedroom. Lights automatically switched on as they entered.

“Impressive,” Severus murmured upon first view. As Harry shut, locked and warded the door, he looked around. A huge four-poster bed dominated one corner of the spacious room. A small, unlit brick fireplace, a highboy and a long dresser took up two more walls. Doors to a walk-in closet, which Harry hastily and wandlessly slammed shut, and to a bathroom took up the third wall along with a rather large window which apparently faced east. The fourth was lined with bookshelves, Muggle-style portraits of Harry’s parents, close friends and a Hogwarts landscape. He tilted his head curiously at Harry. “Interesting pictures,” he said.

“I sleep in here,” he explained. “If they were moving around, I couldn’t ever feel… you know… comfortable enough.”

Severus regarded the portrait of James for a brief moment. “I applaud your instincts.”

“Really? That’s a first,” Harry grinned.

“Not at all,” he replied evenly. “You had the good instincts to get cursed, which brought you to me, which brought me to you.”

Harry was already barefoot, but he invited Severus to make himself more comfortable. “Relax,” he told him. “You’re a bit overdressed for the occasion.”

Severus sat in an overstuffed chair, one which Harry obviously spent a great deal of time in, and slid off his shoes. Sitting back, he glanced over the contents of Harry’s library. “You kept your textbooks?” he asked.

“Just some of them,” Harry said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He hadn’t kept his potions text.

“I notice that –“

“Yeah. I know. But if it’s any consolation, I’m sure Draco has his displayed in hermetically sealed cases and gives tours to the public on Tuesday afternoons and Friday mornings.”

“It’s not, but thank you.”

Harry caught Severus’s sly smile and knew he was forgiven. He stretched out on the bed, propping his pillows up behind him. “You want to discuss my books or watch television or what?”

“You have a television in here, too? Isn’t that… excessive?”

“No,” he replied. “Lots of people have more than one. Besides, I watch my tapes on this one.” He smiled and waggled his eyebrows at Severus, wondering if the man had any interest in porn.

“Your tapes,” Severus said. “Tapes of… you? Sounds rather egotistic. Doing what?”

“No, no,” Harry said, grinning broadly and feeling his face flush. “Not of me. Tapes of… other people. Doing other things. You know.” And he really hoped he wouldn’t have to explain it to him.

Severus thought a moment, then shook his head. “No, sorry. I believe I’d rather be a participant than a member of the audience.”

Which was such a provocative statement Harry felt his mouth go dry. “Really? You’d rather have an audience than be in one?”

“Given the choice, yes,” he replied evenly. “I’m a teacher, you know. I’m used to having people stare at me as I demonstrate various techniques and procedures.”

Harry blinked. He knew he looked stupid with his mouth hanging open and no words coming out, but he couldn’t help it. Shaking his head, he apologized. “Sorry, but I’ve suddenly gotten this image of you in front of a class full of students, teaching them about sex. Giving demonstrations. Asking for volunteers.”

Severus’s lips twitched. His eyes stared directly into Harry’s. “And if I asked for a volunteer, would you raise your hand, Mr. Potter?”

“More than that, Professor Snape.”

“Indeed.”

“Indeed.”

Severus got to his feet. Slowly and steadily he pulled his shirttails out of his jeans and then unbuttoned the cuffs. He pushed his hands through his hair and took a step toward the bed. “And what would you be prepared to demonstrate for the class, Mr. Potter?”

Harry scrambled to his knees and watched as Severus took another step toward him. “I’ve been told I’ve got a rather talented mouth,” he said, unconsciously licking his lips.

“Do you indeed?” he asked. “It is a rather lovely mouth, I must admit. Tempting. And what can you do with it, besides speak?”

It almost felt like he’d jumped into a deep pool of murky water which only Severus could navigate successfully. Harry’d never played like this before with any of his lovers, would-be or otherwise and he was uncertain how to proceed or even if he could hold his own. He’d be well and truly damned, however, before letting Severus think he wasn’t up to the challenge, that he was that much more of a child than the man might think him already. But, what did Severus want him to say? And what would be the most erotic way to phrase it? He didn’t have much time to think about it. He had to come up with something.

“I can kiss,” he offered.

“Kiss? Is that all?” Severus looked askance at him. “Anyone can kiss.”

“Not like me,” Harry said, feeling a bit more confident now that he’d joined the game. “No one can kiss like me.”

“And why is that? Do tell me.”

“I put everything I am into my kisses,” he said. “My lips, my tongue, my teeth.”

“Is that all?”

“That’s just the beginning. While my tongue is stroking yours, my hands are sliding up and down your back, into your hair, over your arse, pulling you closer to me so that it’s like my body is kissing your body.”

Severus visibly swallowed. He moved closer and stood within an arm’s reach of Harry, still kneeling obediently on the bed. “Can you do anything else with your mouth?” he asked.

Harry nodded. “Oh, yes. Kissing’s just the beginning. I’d explore your body with my mouth, you see. Your neck and your shoulders and your nipples and your flat stomach and your hips and your inner thighs and your… well, your cock.” As he spoke, he let his eyes travel down Severus’s body, staring at each part of it in turn. As he stared at Severus’s groin, he saw a decidedly large bulge get decidedly larger. He smiled. “I think you like the sound of that,” he added.

“I do,” he agreed quietly. Then, louder he asked, “And once you had your mouth on my cock, what would you do?”

“Enough of this,” Harry said, raising his eyes to meet Severus’s. “Why don’t I show you?”

In reply, Severus lifted his shirt up over his head, revealing his rather well-formed chest. “That sounds like a good idea,” he said.

The two men met in an open-mouthed groan, their bodies pressed tight and their skin sliding together. Severus’s arms wrapped around Harry’s waist, pulling the younger man’s erection into line with his own. Harry pulled back on Severus’s shoulders, guiding him onto the bed on top of him.

His weight was not too much for him to bear, yet Severus rolled off Harry almost immediately anyway. They lay side by side, facing each other, their hands exploring each other’s face and throat and chest and abdomen. Harry’s shirt got tossed carelessly onto the floor; his sweatpants followed soon after.

“You weren’t wearing any underwear,” Severus said, slightly startled.

“I don’t usually,” Harry said. “Not when I’m in these sweats. I wear them as pajamas.”

“You’re not sleeping in them tonight.”

“Good.” His eyes followed as Severus's hand drifted over his hip, the fingers twisting gently in the tight black pubic hairs and then lightly brushing over his straining prick.

Having his cock fondled by Severus’s warm fingers made Harry nearly desperate for release. However, it made him more desperate to feel Severus’s heated flesh in his own hand. After a quick struggle with the man’s jeans, he did and it was bliss. The two men sighed and then moaned in unison, each holding the other’s prick, each in control of the other’s pleasure.

“Please,” Harry panted. “I want to…”

“I want to, too,” Severus replied, gasping.

“Together,” Harry suggested. “Let’s do it… together.”

Severus could only nod before gritting out, “I’m close… very close.”

The words did as much to inflame Harry as the feeling of Severus’s thumb sliding over the wet tip of his cock. He almost whimpered, saying, “Me, too, oh gods, Sev!” He stared at their hands stroking feverishly over their cocks, a blur of movement. Severus's hips were moving, too, in rhythm with his own, as if they were fucking each other's hand. It was unbelievable.  
They exploded within seconds of each other, their come shooting onto their stomachs and over their hands. Harry rubbed his hand clean on his own balls, massaging them, incredibly happy that he was back in working order. Severus lifted a come-slick finger to Harry’s mouth. The tip of Harry’s tongue slipped out and licked a drop off the fingertip.

“Put that somewhere else,” Harry suggested hoarsely. He grabbed Severus’s wrist in one hand and drew it down to his groin. He rolled onto his back, splaying his legs. “Put it all somewhere else.”

“Harry…” Severus groaned and he did as he was asked.

**

When morning came, the sunlight spilled across Harry’s bedroom floor, over crumpled, abandoned clothing onto the whole of his four-poster bed. Two lean bodies lay entangled in each other, legs entwined with legs, arms pressed close around waist and chest. A long fingered hand stroked idly along a muscled shoulder before slipping down to cup a well-formed buttock.

“Mmm… good morning,” Harry murmured.

“Good morning,” Severus replied. They stared into each other’s eyes. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like a baby,” he replied. “When I did sleep.”

“Sorry if I kept you up.”

“No, you’re not. And neither am I.”

Severus grinned. “No, I’m not.”

“I think I’m cured.”

“I think I am, too.”

“You know what else?”

“What?” Severus leaned forward and nuzzled Harry’s shoulder, dropping a kiss on the warm skin.

“Remember back when all this started and I told you you were afraid of having people like you?”

“Yes…?”

“I was right, wasn’t I?”

“Maybe.”

It was all the admission he was going to get. “But you know now that they were wrong about you, right? You’re worth being liked, being cared about. You know that, right?”

Severus shrugged. “Perhaps. Why?”

“Because…” Harry hesitated. He pulled back to look Severus in the eyes. “Because I don’t want you to be afraid of me liking you.”

“I’m not,” he replied. “Don’t worry.”

He leaned forward to kiss Harry on the lips, but the younger man stopped him with, “Because I do. Like you, that is. A lot. I may even… like you an awful lot. I may even…”

Curious concern in his eyes, Severus backed off. “Harry? What are you trying to tell me?”

Harry closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried again. “Severus Snape. I think I more than like you. I think I might… I might… I might be falling in love with you,” he said in a rush of words and breath.

There was no response.

Harry opened his eyes and tried to read his new lover’s expression. Had he just made a huge blunder? Had he spoken too soon? How soon was too soon, anyway? He’d been thinking about it for weeks. Surely this wasn’t unexpected. But this was Severus. Who knew what that man was prepared for and what he wasn’t?

Severus just stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

He had made a huge error. “Nothing, never mind,” he said quickly and rolled onto his back. “We should get some breakfast. You want to shower first?”

“Harry, hold on a moment,” Severus said with a firm hand on Harry’s chest, preventing him from leaving the bed. “I’m just a little startled. Did you just say, are you trying to tell me, you love me?”

He kept his eyes closed. “Not if you don’t want me to.”

“Oh, Harry,” Severus breathed, leaning over his young lover’s body. “How could I not want that? It’s what I’ve always wanted all my life. To be loved, that is. It’s just that… well, I’ve never been loved by someone I’ve loved in return.”

Harry squinted up at him, thinking. “It’s rather strange, isn’t it,” he said, “to have your feelings returned.” He let his arms reach up around Severus’s back, loosely holding him close.

He nodded. “A bit unnerving, too. I’m suddenly expecting this all to end. And end badly.” He shifted closer to Harry’s body.

“Don’t!” Harry whispered fiercely. “Don’t jinx it. You and me, we deserve a little happy ending, don’t you think? After all we’ve gone through?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so,” Severus said. “But I’m willing to consider that you may be right.” He stroked Harry’s cheek with one hand.

“I’m most definitely right,” Harry told him. He turned his head swiftly to kiss Severus’s fingers. “You’ll find that to be the case, more often than not, that I’m right.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh, are you?”

He nodded, his expression serious. “I am. Better get used to it. It’ll make your life so much easier if you do.”

“It figures,” Severus said with a smirk.

Honestly curious, Harry asked, “What does?”

“That I’d fall in love with someone who’s convinced he’s always right.”

“What can I say?” Harry asked with a silly grin. “It’s my curse!”

Severus had no verbal reply. But then, Harry wasn’t really expecting one.

They kissed intensely, eagerly, joyfully, ignoring the soft knocks on the door, the muffled laughter and the sound of two grown men exchanging money in the hallway beyond. They were too wrapped up in each other to pay any attention to anything else, not when the only world they cared about was the one they had created in each other’s arms.

THE END


End file.
